


Recovery

by KameTerra



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-08
Updated: 2007-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KameTerra/pseuds/KameTerra
Summary: Bodies heal, but relationships aren't always so easy. Following their first real defeat to the Shredder, how can the turtle brothers face their fears and move on?  Takes place after The Shredder Strikes Back episode of the 2003 series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This store was my very first fanfiction. Reading back many years later, I see many things I could improve, change, polish... but I resist the temptation. This story is proof that I have grown as a writer, and I am still proud of it. This story made me love writing... and the rest is history.
> 
> KT

 

* * *

_This story takes place immediately following events in The Shredder Strikes Back Part II, when Splinter, the Turtles, April and Casey have arrived at Casey’s grandmother’s farmhouse in Northampton._

-=-=-=-=-=- 

 

“Nice and easy does the trick, guys.  Try not to move him too much.”

“Oh, that’s _perfect_ , Don, try not to move him while we’re _moving_ him?”

“Yeah, probably not a bad thing he’s unconscious right now.”

“Right on the couch?  Lower on three.  One, two, three.”

The three brothers straightened up as their Sensei covered the turtle in blue with several warm blankets.  The Massachusetts night was cold, and as yet the only thing functioning in the old farmhouse was the electricity.

“Donny, tell us what we can do,” April said, inclining her head meaningfully at the prostrate Leonardo.

For a moment Donatello’s sensitive face showed uncertainty, but the look was replaced with resolve as his scientific mind took over.  His emotions would have to take the back seat for now.

“I need some hot water, clean fabric like towels or sheets, bright light, and someone to help me clean him up.  We should get a fire going in here if we can.”

Even the first item was a stretch, since the water coaxed out of the kitchen tap was frigid and the old range stove certainly did not look up to the task of heating it.  Therefore while April found some old bed sheets and began cutting them up, Casey, Raph, and Mike fired up the wood stove.  Don retrieved the medical supplies they had picked up on the way north and began laying out what he needed on a square of the sheet.  Splinter found a desk lamp upstairs and set it up on the end table next to the couch. 

When the water heating on the wood stove was reasonably warm, Donatello pulled a chair up next to the couch and gingerly uncovered Leo’s right arm.  Master Splinter knelt next to him and waited to be directed.  The other three clustered around behind Don, who began unwrapping a bulky and bloody kitchen towel from around Leonardo’s shoulder.  Everyone came in closer, peering intently over Don and getting in his light.

“Ahem.”  A stern look from Master Splinter directed over his shoulder.  “Perhaps you three should begin looking for ways to make this place more livable.  Donatello needs to focus.  Miss O’Neil, when you are finished cutting that would you continue to heat more water?  Mr. Jones, could you try and locate a large pot or basin and some soap?  Michelangelo, Raphael, we could always use more firewood.” 

Don glanced gratefully at Splinter as the troops got the hint and sprang to action.  The two began to methodically clean Leo up as best they could with cloths while taking inventory of the damage.

By the time the others rejoined them some time later, Don was still stooped over Leo’s right shoulder.  April was gently supporting the forearm so Don could work, and Splinter was standing by with scissors to clip sutures when directed.  As Splinter snipped the next suture, Don straightened up, rubbed his eyes, and heaved a sigh.  “Now for some antibiotics . . .”  He reached for a syringe and a vial, and gave Leo an injection.

Nobody asked where Donatello had gotten sutures and antibiotics.  Even Splinter had ‘looked the other way’ when they stopped briefly for supplies and Donny spotted a nearby medical clinic that was closed for the night. 

“Okay, I’ve done all I can for now.  Who’s next?” Don asked.

“Whoa there Bro, we’ll live for another few minutes without medical attention,” said Raph, taking a step closer.  “Why not give us the damage report first.  How bad is he?”

The right shoulder was the most obvious wound, with two parallel slashes running from the top of the shoulder and cutting across the upper bicep.  Don had done a neat job on the stitches, and cleaned up it looked a lot better than it had when Leo first landed in April’s apartment.  Then, with blood pooling around the shoulder and chaos all around them, it had been hard to assess how bad it was, and hard to tell how much of the blood on Leo’s body was even his.

“Well, this arm was the most time consuming simply because of the stitch job—”

“Have you done that before, Don? They don’t look half bad,” interrupted April.

“Sure he has!” declared Mikey, brandishing his forearm to display a jagged scar.

Don grimaced.  “Well, that was one of my earlier works.”

“Hey, that’s a pretty good battle wound, Mikey,” stated Casey enthusiastically.  “Chicks dig scars!  Bones heal!” he chanted, offering up a high-five which the grinning turtle accepted.

“Cut it out you guys, or I’ll give you both so many battle scars you’ll need heavy artillery to keep the chicks away!” growled Raph, clenching a fist.  Then composing himself, he said, “Donny, keep going.”

“Sure, I’ve done plenty of stitches, but I had to sew up the muscle up first with internal dissolvable stitches.  The cuts were deep, and there’s just no way the muscle would heal properly if I hadn’t.  Still, I’ve never done that before,” explained Donatello.  “Besides the arm, there are a myriad of smaller cuts and bruises, a large flesh wound on the thigh which might be a result of being dragged along concrete, and extensive bruising around the left shoulder which could be anything from impact damage to muscle tearing.  No broken bones or dislocations that I can tell, which is good.”

Raphael scrutinized his brother, knowing he was just trying to paint a pretty picture before dumping black paint all over the canvas.

“But there’s also this head injury,” continued Don tentatively.

And there it was.  Woosh!  All over the canvas.

Everyone leaned in closer as Don directed some more light on the unconscious turtle’s head.  In better light, and with Leo’s face cleaner, a purple-black bruise was clearly visible on his temple.  Above the swelling was a small cut, which was taped up in thin butterfly strips.

“There’s no way to know yet how bad it is.  It’s probably a concussion, but that doesn’t mean much.  It could be fairly innocuous.”

The unspoken OR stood in front of them like a Dark Rider blocking the path.

“Is that why he hasn’t woken up yet?” ventured Mikey.

“I just don’t know,” said Don, shaking his head.  “It’s not really surprising that he’s out of it at this point—it could easily be the shock in general, combined with exhaustion and dehydration.  However, for now one of us should be with him all the time.  If he—” Donatello swallowed.  “ _When_ he awakens, it’s very important that we try and get him to drink something.”

After everyone else’s relatively minor injuries had been looked over and patched up, Raph finally surrendered his right hand to Don’s inspection.  Peeling away the dirty cloth binding, Donatello sucked in his breath when he saw the ragged crevasse running over Raphael’s hand between thumb and forefinger.  Still oozing blood, the wound had already swelled considerably.

“You should have let me take a look sooner,” Don reprimanded.  “This isn’t even a clean cut, it’s more like a tear.  It would have been a lot easier to stitch before it swelled up like this.”

“It’ll be fine, Donny, I ain’t gonna die,” Raph said impatiently.  “Just patch it up for me, will ya?”

“Okay.  Can you make a fist?   That’s good.  It seems like the tendons are intact.  You’re lucky, and you’ll be even luckier if this doesn’t get infected.  You want a local for the pain?” 

Raphael’s gaze hit his brother like twin sai as he calmly held out his hand.  With that, Don set to work on another lengthy cleaning and stitching job.

As Don worked on Raphael’s hand, Michelangelo stood aside slightly in the shadows, hands fisted loosely at his sides.  He had sustained only minor cuts and bruises and a slightly sprained wrist, and those had already been attended to by Master Splinter, but he stood transfixed by the sight of Leonardo prone on the couch.  They had taken off Leo’s mask and all of his other things as well.  All of them removed their masks from time to time, but Leo was rarely seen without his, even when he was young.  It made Mikey uncomfortable to see him without it now—it made Leo seem somehow . . . diminished.  Unprotected.  Mike’s palms began to sweat as furtive Fear crept swiftly into him, stealing the warmth out of even this turtle’s optimistic heart.

* * *

 

Don awoke slumped against a wall with a blanket over him, momentarily confused as to why he was there and why his body felt as though he had been chucked out of a moving vehicle at 90 miles an hour.  Dim light was coming through the windows.  He sat forward a little and tried to stretch his locked muscles, and saw Leonardo stretched out on the couch with Master Splinter settled on a chair to one side.

“How is he?” asked Don as he used his bo staff to lever himself up.

“The same.  He has not awoken,” replied the father.

Don approached and laid a hand over Leo’s brow, noting that his breathing seemed normal and his temperature, although warm, was not hot.  Straightening up, he took stock of his surroundings in the daylight.  Mikey was curled up in a blanket on the floor, still sleeping.  “Where is everyone?”

“Raphael and Mr. Jones are still on the roof from their watch, and Miss O’Neil is in the kitchen trying to clear space for cooking,” answered Splinter.

Donatello yawned, and as he stretched he noticed the contrast between his hands where he had washed them, and his forearms which were filthy.  _Not as filthy as Raph, though_ , he noted as his brother and Casey entered the room.  Raph’s entire plastron was absolutely caked with dried blood and other matter that only the turtle in red would enjoy thinking about.  Whereas Don’s weapon allowed him to keep his opponents at a distance, the limited reach of Raphael’s sai, not to mention the keenness of the points, had made for a messy battle.  _Come to think of it_ , _he probably considers that a bonus_ , reflected Don.

As Casey and Raphael inquired about Leonardo, April entered the room and announced that she had managed to throw together something for breakfast if they were interested. 

“Should we wake Mikey?” inquired Casey as they filed into the kitchen.

“Naw, let him sleep.  If he’s so tired he didn’t wake up at the word ‘breakfast,’ he must be pretty deep,” answered Raph with a snicker.  “Besides, more for us.”

Over breakfast, the group discussed what tasks needed to be done and in what order.  They agreed that the greatest need was for hot water, so Donatello volunteered to tackle that problem.  April offered to sit with Leonardo so Master Splinter could get some rest.  While they were talking, Michelangelo began to stir, and finally opened his eyes with a groan.

“Oh, man.  Did anyone get the license plate of the truck that hit me?”  He sat up, massaging one shoulder.  Then his eyes caught on an empty plate.  “Did I miss food?!”

“Yeah, sorry Mikey we ate it all.  You’ll hafta hold off until lunch now,” sneered Raph, at which news Mikey looked so crestfallen that April laughed and got up to get him a plate.

They filled Mikey in on the discussion, and Master Splinter suggested that since Raph and Casey had also been up all night, they too should get some rest.  In response Raphael walked over to Mikey and grabbed his blanket away, resulting in Mikey being dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.  Wrapping the blanket around himself, Raph stalked over to a corner and laid down muttering, “It’s just too easy when he’s tired.”

They all went about their respective activities (Mikey was ‘volunteered’ to wash dishes and continue getting the kitchen in working order), and by early afternoon everyone was ready for some lunch.  Although Casey and Raphael hadn’t slept long, they both declared that they were ready to pitch in.  Don updated everyone on his progress and estimated that there should there would be hot water by the end of the day.  Although they kept a light banter through the meal, everyone’s glances kept flicking toward the couch where Leonardo lay, revealing their ever growing unease.  There had been no change in his condition.

Work continued through the afternoon, with Splinter again taking up position next to Leo and resting a forepaw lightly on his shoulder.  Don came in some time later, cleared his throat loudly, and announced with some ceremony the hot water was working.  The others, who had been working on organizing, cleaning, and various repairs, greeted this with whoops and cheers.

“Hey,” said Raph, “Can we just do ourselves a favor and let Mikey have the first shower?  It’s killin’ me just standing in the same room with ‘im.”

“Fine with me,” retorted Mikey.  “At least I can do something about it.  Doesn’t matter how many times _you_ shower, you’ll _still_ be ugly!”

Mikey easily dodged Raphael’s predictable swing, and as the scuffle continued until all of the sudden they heard the water start upstairs.  Raph looked up with Mikey in a headlock, and realized that everyone was standing around laughing except for April.

“I believe the phrase is ‘ladies first’,” came Master Splinter’s amused voice from by the couch.

* * *

The guys decided to see what they could scrape together for dinner with the assorted canned goods that were available while they waited for the shower to open up.  Donatello went to check over Leo while Master Splinter took his turn in the shower, and was dismayed to find that Leo’s temperature had gone up.  Brow furrowed, he checked over his brother’s injuries to make sure there were no obvious signs of infection.  The mauled arm was inflamed, but he didn’t think it was to an abnormal degree.  He pulled the blankets up closer under Leo’s chin and sat back on his heals, thinking.

“How’s the big guy doing?” Raph asked behind him.  His voice was unusually quiet, and Don realized he probably didn’t want others to overhear.  Sensitivity was not one of Raphael’s strong points, but he could be perceptive.

“He has a fever.”

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Raphael simply nodded to himself, and returned to the kitchen.

Dinner was somewhat strained, with everyone trying just a little too hard to be cheerful.  Michelangelo was particularly subdued.  Master Splinter asked Casey to tell them some stories about the farmhouse to pass the time.  Casey was not the most eloquent of story tellers, but he made up for it in sheer enthusiasm.  And, to Raph’s particular delight, he was not afraid to tell them stories that made him appear foolish.  April told a couple of anecdotes as well, mainly from her childhood.  The brothers were intrigued.  Even though the turtles had gotten to know April and Casey quite well by this time, they had never thought of them as once being children, and it added a new dimension to their relationship.

Don, who was sitting by the couch, occasionally reached up to touch Leo’s forehead or adjust the blankets.  He tried to look casual about it, but no one was fooled.  Finally Raph stood up and declared he was going up to the roof to keep lookout.  No one really thought there was much danger of being discovered, remote as the farmhouse was, but they had learned the hard way that you could not be too careful.

After Raphael left, the talking kind of petered out while everyone became absorbed in their own thoughts.  Eventually April stood up and asked if anyone wanted some tea, more to create something to do than anything else.  She passed cups around to everyone when it was done, giving Donatello’s tense shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed him his cup.

“Casey, would you like to take a cup up to Raphael?” April asked.  “It’s pretty cold out there.”

“Uh, sure,” he said, putting on his coat and retrieving two mugs from the kitchen.

Casey made his way up to the roof, where Raph sat wrapped in a blanket.  The night sky was crystalline, the stars vivid and infinite.  But Raphael was not looking at the sky at all.  Casey sat down beside him. 

“Here, April sent this up.”

“What is it?  Tea?”

“Not _just_ tea,” Casey said, and pulled a bottle out of his coat.  “Part of my Grandad’s old stash,” he added as he unscrewed the cap.

“Ah, now that’s more like it.”  Raph held out his mug and Casey added a liberal amount from the bottle to both cups.

Raph took a sip and grimaced involuntarily as the liquid burned a satisfying path down to his stomach.  He waited, wondering if April sent Casey up to say something to him, but Casey was quiet.  _Good_ , thought Raph.  He had no desire to articulate the thoughts stalking through his head.  But it did help to have a friend sitting there next to him.  _April understood_ , he thought.  April knew that he came up here more to escape than to keep watch.  She knew he buried his worry under snarls and spines, but he couldn’t keep that up for long in there.  He continued to sip his tea, welcoming the warmth it brought and watching the moisture curl up from the cup on its way to the stars.

* * *

 

Michelangelo sat in a dark corner of the room, covered over with a blanket.  He watched silently as Donatello and April put another blanket over Leonardo.  Leo was burning up now, but his body shivered subtly under the avalanche of blankets covering him.  Master Splinter was still sitting in the chair beside the bed.  To someone who didn’t know him well, he would appear calm, even serene.  But Mikey saw the slight tension in his muscles, particularly in the hand that occasionally passed a cool washcloth over his son’s brow and face.  Don and April whispered to each other now and then.  Maybe they kept their voices down because they thought he was asleep, but somehow Mikey didn’t think that was the reason.

“I should have gotten the materials to set an IV,” Donatello was whispering.  “I just assumed he’d be able to drink by now.”

“Donny, you couldn’t have known.  Do you even know how to set an IV?” countered April.

“I could have tried.  Being properly hydrated would go a long way in helping him fight this.”  Donny clenched his jaw.  He stood up, paced the length of the room a few times, and then came back beside April and knelt down.

Mike knew that in a few minutes Don would begin to fidget, and get up to pace again.  He had been doing it half the night.  Watching his brother’s actions, he tried to imagine what it would feel like to be the one that had the ability to help Leonardo.  He had felt so useless tonight.  The most helpful thing he could think of to do was simply stay out of the way.  He almost envied Don—at least he could take action.  The little brother, the _baby_ brother, could only look on helplessly. 

How did they think he could actually be asleep right now?  Throughout the day images of Leo, defenseless Leo lying there without his mask on, had been rising up and bursting unexpectedly in his mind like bubbles in a thick stew.  His insides would go cold the way they had when he was very small and was waiting for Splinter to discover some mischief he had gotten into.  In those times, the waiting was always worse than the reality.  Splinter would eventually discover what he had done, and ask his son to confess.  Michelangelo always did, tearfully stating that he hadn’t _meant_ to do wrong.  And Splinter would take him up onto his lap and let him cry, and tell him he knew.

Mike shook his head to clear it of the memory.  He was not a child anymore, but he was still helpless.  Only now he couldn’t crawl into Splinter’s lap.  And he couldn’t truthfully tell himself that the waiting would be the worst part.

* * *

 

Donatello was racking his brain as he paced, trying to think if there was anything he could do for his brother that he might have overlooked.  He wished he knew much more about medicine.  His fingers ached to be working on something familiar, like a machine.  Although he had learned basic medicine for practical reasons, he was more an engineer than a biologist.  He could fix almost anything given the right tools and enough time.  This, this _waiting_ for things to happen, was not the way with engineering. 

He walked back to Leonardo, kneeling yet again by the couch.  He put both of his hands on top of the blankets over Leo’s chest, and let them rest there, fingers spread.  He slipped one hand down by his brother’s neck, feeling the erratic pulse and the heat that was like a dragon consuming his brother’s body from the inside.  Leo’s breathing was becoming more rapid, and his chest could be seen rising and falling with the effort even under all those blankets. 

Hand still on Leo’s neck and head bowed, Don closed his eyes and simply tried to will his brother to get better, to cool down, to breathe normally.  He felt his throat begin to burn and constrict, and he clenched his jaw harder and took several slow, deep breaths to regain control.  He could not afford to lose it right now.  He needed to be ready when the time came that he could do something, but for the moment he was helpless.

 

* * *

Raphael and Casey turned expectantly when they heard someone approach on the roof.  It was April.

She spoke even before she was all the way to them.  “You guys, Splinter . . . Splinter says—,” she began breathlessly.

In that moment, Raphael stood on a transparent sheet of ice, and below was only suffocating black water.

April lifted her gaze and fixed Raphael, her eyes softening slightly, and took a slow breath.

“You should come.”

Raphael was past her and gone even as the words were completed.  All he could think, all he heard was the word “no” repeating through his head.  _No no no no no no_ . . .  This was not it.  This was not the way it went.  _No!_

He didn’t remember coming down from the roof, but suddenly there he was standing in front of the couch where his brother lay.  Splinter, Don, and Mikey were there, but only Mikey looked up, his blue eyes wide and haunted.  The first thing Raph noticed was that Leo was breathing.  He exhaled, unaware until then that he had been holding his breath, and dropped to his knees beside the couch.

“Donny, what’s . . . How—,” he started, but didn’t know the words.

Don’s voice came out choked and gruff.  “He has a high fever, and if it doesn’t break soon his body will overheat to the point where his cells begin to break down.”

Raphael found his brother’s hand under the blanket and grasped it.  He forced himself to look at Leonardo and tried to recall him the way he had been two days ago, before this shadow fell over them.  He tried to recall the last words they’d exchanged, but he couldn’t.  Couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his older brother’s laugh.  His mind registered what he thought was Leo’s ragged breathing, but he understood after a time that it was his own.

He was losing it, losing the battle to his emotions.  He couldn’t let this out, but it was coming anyway.

Head down, still holding Leo’s hand, he choked out, “Gimme a second?”

He heard steps backing away, and hoped they wouldn’t watch.  Raphael leaned in closer, putting his head as close as he could to his brother’s until they were touching.  He curved his right arm over the blankets, over Leo’s chest and around his far shoulder until he was hugging him as best as he could.  Tears were falling now unbidden, just slowly leaking like rain down a window pane, but behind them there was an entire ocean. 

“Leo,” he croaked.  “Leo.  Stay with me Bro, just stay with me.”  Once he started talking, he knew he had to keep going or he wouldn’t be able to continue.

“You’ve always been there for us.  Always been a good son, a good student, a good brother.  I haven’t always made it easy for ya . . . but that don’t mean . . . I love you any less.  You tried to lead us, and I fought you every step.  But I knew . . . I _know_ . . . that everything you did was for the family.  Shell, Leo, we still need you so much—and I want you to know that until you’re with us again and ready to take over the lead, you can count on me to step up and do whatever it takes to keep our family safe.”

He gave himself over to the weight of pain and sobbed for a short time, which was more than he’d ever allowed himself before.  When he had regained some measure of control, he extricated himself from his brother, and straightened the blankets around him again.  He wiped his eyes on his arm, but for once he didn’t care if anyone saw. 

He stood up, and in moments his family was around him again.  They didn’t say anything, and didn’t touch him, for which Raph was grateful.  They just stood, shoulder to shoulder, and tried but failed to grasp the enormity of the loss they were facing.

April and Casey stood in the periphery, unwilling to intrude.  After a few minutes, Master Splinter turned to them, and beckoned them closer.  The three turtles stepped aside a little to allow them room, and Casey put an arm around April’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze.  Then Splinter returned to his chair next to the couch, and gestured for them to sit down.  The vigil continued; everyone slightly calmer now that they were all together.

“Master Splinter?” April spoke tentatively, startling everyone.  “What was Leonardo like as a child?”

Splinter pulled his gaze away from Leo, and closed his eyes.  Moments passed and April thought he wasn’t going to answer.  But then he opened his eyes and began to speak in that calm, steady way of his.

“Leonardo was like his siblings in many ways.  He was energetic, inquisitive, and at times disobedient.  He smiled as much as they did, although he laughed somewhat less.  When he did laugh, it was so exuberant that everyone had to join in, whether they got the joke or not.”

Donatello smiled weakly at this, in spite of himself.   Their brother was still like that.

“When he was quite small he differed from the other three in one very noticeable way—he was very careful of his belongings.  I brought home toys whenever I could salvage some, sometimes giving a particular item to each of my sons.  Michelangelo’s were quickly scattered about or lost—he would grow tired of his own toys and move on to his brothers’.  Donatello did not mind sharing.  His favorite toys were usually leggos or blocks, and when Michelangelo took them apart, it meant that Donatello could put them back together again.  Raphael often broke his toys, either out of frustration or simply for amusement.  So he did not mind if Michelangelo played with his either.

“Leonardo did mind.  He would become very angry when his things were removed without his permission because they would often end up broken or lost.  He tried to hide them, but nothing stayed hidden from Michelangelo for long.  One day, Leonardo’s favorite model airplane was broken.  I do not recall who broke it, but Leonardo was very distressed and begged me to help prevent his brothers from getting to his things.  At this time the four shared a single room, and although they were still very young, I realized that personal space was somewhat lacking.  The others did not seem to mind, but Leonardo had often shown maturity beyond his age, and perhaps he needed his own space where the others did not.

“I therefore relented, and after some searching found a box with lock that fitted to it.  I put the box in my sons’ room, and explained to them that it was Leonardo’s alone and they were not to disturb it without his permission.  I gave Leonardo the key, and he kept it tucked away in his belt.  Michelangelo would occasionally ask Leonardo if he could play with the toys, but Leonardo refused him.  Raphael once tried to break into the box, more to see if he could than because he wanted the toys inside, but he was not very subtle about it and I was able to prevent him from doing too much damage.

“For his part, Leonardo would occasionally take his toys out and set them up, playing quietly on his own.  His brothers had given up asking if they could join him.  One day, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Raphael were in the common room playing, and Leonardo was in the bedroom.  There was much laughter from the three, although I could not determine what game they were playing.  In time they began wrestling, and the toys lay forgotten.  Leonardo peeked out of the bedroom, looking wistfully at his brothers.  He spied me sitting in my pretended meditation, and he approached quietly.  He held out his newest favorite toy to me, and asked if I wanted to play with him.

“ ‘Not right now, my son.  I am meditating’ I told him.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see what he would do.  He stared thoughtfully down at the toy he had offered out to me, and then looked at his brothers.  Oblivious to their brother’s quandary, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello had ended up in a heap on the floor and had fallen asleep.  Leonardo went back into the bedroom, and emerged a short time later carrying all of his belongings in his small arms.  He walked over to the pile of toys, and dumped all but one of his on top.  Next he approached Michelangelo with the remaining toy, the same one he had offered to me, and tucked it under his sleeping brother’s arm.  Then he found a comfortable spot against Raphael, gave a great sigh, and went to sleep.

“From then on, Leonardo left his toys out with everyone else’s.  He gave the lock box back to me, and for many years I used it as a place to store books and candles.”

Here Master Splinter stopped, and the others assumed that was the end of the story.  But the wizened rat could not bring himself to speak the rest out loud.  For Leonardo had given him back the box, but not the key and lock.  Some months later, as he was tidying up the lair, Splinter picked Leonardo’s belt up off of the floor, and the key slipped out of a hole in the seam.  As Splinter retrieved the key to put it back, he noticed writing on one side of it.  There, in blocky, childlike letters was spelled out one word—FAMILY.

Silence had returned as everyone absorbed the words.  Donatello liked the idea of telling stories about Leo, though—it made him feel like his brother was right there participating.  And it was certainly better than sitting in silence.

“Do you guys remember the Halloween when Master Splinter took us trick-or-treating and Mikey lost his candy?” asked Don.

“Yeah,” said Raphael.  “He had a hole in his bag, and he must’ve left a trail of goodies across miles of sewer before he realized it.”

“Uh oh, that must have been a real blow to you, Mikey,” April said with a half-smile, trying to involve the turtle in the talk.  Mikey glanced up but he didn’t feel like talking and remained silent, listening. 

“Mikey wanted to go back and look for it all,” continued Donny, “but Master Splinter forbade it.  Leo told Mikey not to worry, he’d share his candy with him.  We were fine with that part, weren’t we Raph?”

“We shoulda known we weren’t off the hook that easy,” replied Raph.

“Leo then told Mikey that Raph and I would also give him some of _our_ candy, to make it even.  Boy, that’s not what we wanted to hear, but even before we could argue, Leo gave us one of those looks.  Shell, even when we were kids Leo could look daggers almost as well as Master Splinter.  And before we knew it, without even a fight, we were handing it over.”

“Halloween was fun for you guys, huh?” said April.  “Built in costumes and all that?”

“Yeah, we—,” Don started.

“Donatello,” interrupted Splinter calmly.  He was looking at Leo.

Don jumped up and ran around to Leo’s head.  Master Splinter slowly passed a cloth over Leo’s brow, and after he removed it tiny beads of moisture began to appear.  Don quickly slipped a hand under the blankets, and felt more perspiration there.  He began folding back the top two layers of blankets.  “Can somebody help me with these?”

Michelangelo was closest, and grabbed the corners of the blankets at Leo’s feet to help Don lift them off and then draped them over the end of the couch.  Don tucked the remaining blankets up close around Leonardo, and then felt his head again.  “He’s sweating now. It could be that the fever’s beginning to break." 

“Should we take off more blankets?” asked Mikey. 

“No, we need to keep him fairly warm but still allow his body to cool off gradually.”

At first, there was not much change.  But Leonardo started to sweat profusely, and over the next couple of hours his temperature crept down.  Almost imperceptibly his breathing became slower and more even.  Donatello hardly dared hope at first, but then Leo swallowed, his breathing slowed even more, and he was able to take deeper breaths.  He still felt hot, but he wasn’t burning up like before.  Then Leo moved his head to the side a little, and Don almost laughed out loud.

“Don, what is it?” asked Raph tensely.  He had been biting his tongue to keep himself from hassling Donatello every minute, but he was watching closely.

“He just swallowed, and then he moved his head a little,” Don said, sounding amazed.  He glanced back over his shell at everyone.  “I know that doesn’t seem like much, but he’s breathing slower and deeper, and his temperature’s still coming down.”

“C’mon, Donny, throw us a bone here,” pleaded Raph.

“Well, I’m not completely sure,” said Don, “But I think he’s just _sleeping_ now.  I’ll feel a lot better when he wakes up, but I think this particular danger has passed.”  And this time he did laugh out loud.

The room itself seemed to exhale, and the sudden reversal of such drawn out anxiety sent them spinning into a state of giddy intoxication.  Raph came up behind Don and put him in an affectionate chokehold from behind, and Donny patted his arm in return.  Mikey tried to stand up too quickly, got tripped up in his blanket, and landed across the laps of April and Casey where they ended up in a tangled embrace.  Don and Raph wrapped Master Splinter up in a double hug until their furry Sensei accused them of trying to smother him.  The whole group ended up alongside Leo again, and everyone found some excuse to gently touch him, as if to reassure themselves that he was really there.  This time, instead of bracing themselves for a loss, they were welcoming him back.

Leonardo’s condition continued to stabilize, and finally Master Splinter suggested everyone try to get some rest while he kept an eye on Leo.  It was just past four in the morning.  Sleep came rather quickly as everyone was both physically and emotionally exhausted.  Splinter sat quietly, his body in a state of relaxation even as he kept watch over his son.

Michelangelo was the first to awaken later that morning.  The room was bathed in the dim light filtering in from the overcast sky.  He stood up slowly and stretched his stiff muscles, and then rubbed his arms briskly to ward of the chill.

“Good morning, Sensei,” he said in a whisper as he stepped around the other sleeping bodies and put more wood in the stove.  “How’s Leo?”

“He appears to be resting comfortably.”

“And how are you?” Mikey asked with concern as he approached his father.  He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew Master Splinter had been awake a long time now without rest.

“I am fine my son,” he responded with an encouraging smile.

Michelangelo smiled back.  It was good to feel like smiling again.  “I can look after him now, if you want to rest.”

“In a little while perhaps, but for now I could use some food.”

Mikey’s face brightened still more at the mention of food, and he offered to see what he could scrape together.  Splinter told him to fix enough for everyone, as he was sure the others would be hungry when they woke up as well.  Mikey set about making breakfast with the limited fare they had.  It wasn’t much, he reflected as he worked, but at least it would be hot and filling.  He also made tea for Splinter, and hot chocolate for himself.

The sounds and aromas emanating from the kitchen began to reach the sleepers, and by the time breakfast was ready they were all awake too.  They ate together in the common room, still quite sore in body but noticeably lighter in spirit.  Don had already checked Leo and proclaimed that his temperature was near normal, he was no longer sweating, and he was breathing the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Leonardo could hear noises.  Far away, like they were at the other end of a sewer tunnel.  Was that where he was?  He tried to piece together anything of what had happened, but it was like trying to hold on to fog.  He slowly became aware of his own body.  It felt like there was a lead blanket over him, weighing down his limbs and pressing his body down.  Heaviest of all was his head, which thrummed in an unfamiliar way. 

There were the noises again, down at the end of the tunnel, echoing slightly.  They faded in and out, but he concentrated on trying to identify them, and gradually they got closer.  Voices.  Talking.  He could tell now.  He swallowed involuntarily, and then found he could move his tongue.  Swallowing hurt, but he did it again anyway just because he could.  Each moment he became a little bit more aware of his body.  He moved his head a little, but that was a mistake.  The thrumming in his head pulsed through his entire body, and he realized it was not just thrumming but pain.

Then he felt a touch on his head, gentle and a little fuzzy.  He tested his eyelids, wanting to see what was touching him, but they felt gluey and heavy.  So instead of trying to open them, he squeezed them tight.  This seemed to loosen them up a little, and the next time he tried he was able to crack them open just a little.  It was shockingly bright, and the light made his head pound and his eyes tear up.  He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

“Leonardo.  My son.”

This time he heard not just the voice, but words.  The words were for him, he knew.  They were familiar and comforting.  He blinked again, and through the slits that were his eyes, he could begin to see shapes and shadows with fuzzy edges.  He swallowed again and worked his tongue, trying to find enough moisture to speak.  He summoned his voice, but it only came out as a parched whisper.  “Where . . .”

“It is okay.  We are with you and we are all safe.  Try and drink this.”

He closed his eyes again, but it registered very slowly that that last bit had been a command.  What was it again?  He felt his head being lifted slightly, and with great effort cracked his eyes open.

“Leonardo.  You must drink this.”

And he felt something against his lips.  A straw.  He began to drink.  The swallowing was less painful now, but the effort was exhausting.  Things began to get farther away again, and before his head was even lowered back he was asleep.

* * *

Dontello’s mind was racing, tabulating all the information he had gleaned from the very short time Leonardo had been awake.  He had spoken, so verbal processing was probably okay, sensitivity to light was probably from the head injury, and he had been able to drink.  He still could not rule out spinal injury or tell what other effects the head injury may have had.  But it was something.

Everyone waited apprehensively for Donatello’s assessment.  They had been fervently hoping that Leo would wake up soon, but it had been so brief—and he had been so weak.  They saw Don’s hunched up he shoulders relax slightly, and turned to face them.

“There’s not much to go on, but it’s a positive step.  At least he woke up, and managed to drink something.  He appears to be sleeping normally again now, and I expect he’ll be a little more improved every time he awakens,” he said.  The others accepted what he said without comment, but still looked expectant, and Donatello could see the questions written all over their faces.

He sighed inwardly in some amusement, and knew it was an indication of the seriousness of the matter that they were even waiting for his permission to ask questions.  “Go ahead, ask away,” Donatello said, sitting on the arm of the couch and patiently folding his arms across his chest.

“So when’s he gonna wake up again?”

“Do you think he recognized us?”

“Did he drink enough?  I mean, it wasn’t even a full juice box.”

“Yeah, and if he’s had enough can I have the rest of it?” 

This last from Michelangelo, who true to form was attempting to lighten the atmosphere.  Donny tried his best to answer everything as they peppered him with questions, but finally Master Splinter put an end to the Q & A session, stating, “I know it is difficult, but we must be patient.  Healing takes time.”

Master Splinter suggested they all get back to work on fixing up the house, since it appeared they were going to be staying on for a while.  Now that Leo was at least stable, they began to think more long term and planned ways to make their stay more comfortable in the house.  Don started a “wish list” of materials and supplies so they could try and acquire them later.

They continued to take turns sitting with Leonardo, and Don stressed the importance of getting Leo to drink and not exhausting him with questions if he woke again.  He did wake up several more times throughout the day for short periods of time, and was able to drink and move his arms a little. He seemed confused, but that may have been due to his inability to stay awake long enough to hear an answer to a question he just asked.  One thing that worried them a little was that Leo still had not demonstrated specifically that he recognized them or even knew who he was himself, but Donatello was adamant that asking him questions would only wear him out and prolong the answers further.

Towards evening, Raph was sitting with Leo when he woke up again.  The groggy turtle opened his weighted eyes slowly and tried to shift his position a little on the couch.  The subsequent pounding of his head forced him a lay still a moment and recover before opening his eyes again, but when he did he could see shapes clearly, and his brain seemed to be running at normal speed instead of in slow motion. 

“Well, well, well.  If it ain’t Sleeping Beauty,” Leo heard from behind his head.

“Hiya Raph,” he answered weakly.

Grinning, Raph came around to the side of the couch so Leo could see him.

“Here Princess, here’s your beverage,” he said sarcastically as he put a juice box in Leo’s hand.  Leo curled his fingers weakly around it, and Raph helped him position his arm so he could drink on his own.

“Hey Donny, Leo’s up,” Raph called into the kitchen.  Don came in, drying his hands on a towel, and switched spots with Raphael.

“All right, Leo,” Don said.  “I’m gonna take a look at your arm while you’re finishing that,” he said, pulling back the loose dressing on the shoulder.  While Don was working, the rest of the gang began to congregate and wash up for dinner.  Donatello finished examining the slashes, and then turned to the bruise and cut on Leo’s head.  There wasn’t much to do there except apply some ointment. 

Leo was lying quietly with his eyes closed, concentrating on the comforting sounds of domestic activity around him in order to distract himself from the pain of Donny’s gentle ministrations.  He could hear April and Casey bickering over the noises of dishes and silverware clinking.  Then there was Mikey’s voice, defending to Splinter his additions of comics and pizza to the wish list.

Don laid a hand across Leo’s forehead, and peered at his face.  “Leo, can you look at me?”

Leo opened his eyes, and saw his brother’s face clearly for the first time since . . . well, since.  As Don inspected his pupils for abnormal dilation, Leo noticed how strung out Donatello looked.  He was good at reading his brothers’ faces—it helped him make decisions for the group because he could factor in things his teammates weren’t telling him.  And now, he could see clearly how much worry and stress Don was trying to handle.

“I’ll be okay, Donny,” he said to his brother.  Don’s eyes flew wide open, and immense relief skated across his expression.

“I guess you will be, if you’re already starting to worry about _us_ ,” Don said with a smile.

“Didn’t I tell you he’d be back to his usual pain-in-the-ass self in no time?” quipped Raph from nearby.  “Our Fearless Leader’s back, everyone,” he added as everyone else came into the room with their dinner. 

Mike came over as fast as he could, almost spilling his food.

“Leo!” yelped Michelangelo. 

“Hey Mikey.”

“I’m so glad you’re getting better, Leo!  Everyone else just gangs up on me when you’re not around.   OW!”  Mikey rubbed his head after Raph’s smack.  “Watch it, Raph!  How would you feel if you gave me a concussion?”  Mikey said dramatically.  Raphael made a noise like a growl, and everyone else hid smiles.

While they were eating, Leonardo asked them what had happened after he was attacked.  Everyone stopped eating abruptly, and exchanged looks.  They had hoped to put off explanations a while longer.

“Listen, Leo,” said Raph, laying his fork down.  “Maybe we can just fill you in tomorrow.  You gotta be tired anyway.” 

Leonardo didn’t answer.  He didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Uh, Leo,” said Don, trying to change the subject, “Feel like trying to eat something?”

“Okay,” said Leo quietly.  He paused.  “If you’ll tell me what happened while I’m eating.”

He knew he had them there, but he felt bad about using his condition as leverage when he had caused them so much worry.

“I’ll rest easier once I know,” he said truthfully.

Donatello caught Splinter’s eyes, and Splinter nodded.  April got up to start heating some soup.  Splinter, with commentary from Michelangelo, Raphael, and Casey, began to explain the events of the past several days, beginning with Leo crashing through the window of April’s apartment.  Donatello used some blankets to prop Leo up so he would have an easier time eating.  Just being moved a little made him feel light headed and slightly dizzy, but he didn’t complain.

When the soup was ready, Don tried to set things up so Leo could eat on his own, but it didn’t work.  Maneuvering a spoon without hurting his head or arms (or spilling all of the soup) was impossible, so Master Splinter fed him while the others continued telling about their narrow escape from the Shredder and his Foot.  Leonardo was embarrassed about being spoon fed, but he didn’t protest.  He knew the value of choosing your battles, and he had already won the important one for the night.

Leo couldn’t eat much of the soup, but even so it did not seem to be settling well in his stomach.  He tried to concentrate on breathing slowly and processing what they were telling him, but oily nausea was welling up.

“How are you feeling, Leo?” Don asked when there was no comment from his brother following the explanations.

“Woozy,” replied Leonardo faintly.

“Aw, don’t worry.  That’s just cuz Mikey’s sitting too close to ya.”

But no sooner were the words out of Raph’s mouth than Leo leaned over the edge of the couch and threw up.  At least no one was sitting there.  “Sorry,” he muttered as he laid back.  “Guess I’m not a princess after all.”  And moments later he was asleep.

* * *

 

Michelangelo had been feeling more cheerful than he had for the last two days, until Leonardo decided to lose his dinner.  Mike almost felt like he was going to lose his, too.  Things had felt nearly like normal, with everyone talking and Leo awake and acting like his old self.  And then there was this stark reminder of how far Leo still had go and how close they had been to losing him.  The reality check tripped him up, and he fell hard.  He had to get out of there.  Setting his plate on the floor, he got up and fled to the porch. 

Master Splinter watched him go as he helped clean up the mess.  He knew that Michelangelo’s feelings were always very close to the surface, and that was a double-edged sword for him.  _Those who fly the highest fall the farthest_ , Splinter thought.  When Michelangelo was happy or excited, he was bouncing off of clouds.  When he was disappointed or sad, even over something small, he was practically inconsolable.  It was partly this quality that made the other three view him as their younger brother, even though their exact age differences were slight.

Splinter gave Michelangelo several minutes, and then followed him outside.  He found his son at the far end of the porch, kneeling and clutching a support beam as he cried.  It brought to mind how Michelangelo, when was small, used to run to him when he was upset and crawl in his lap to cry, even after the other three had outgrown the habit.  His siblings would tease him about it, but Splinter knew that Michelangelo simply didn’t have the emotional defense mechanisms of the other three.  Unable to block his emotions, his son just needed comfort when overwhelmed by them.  And a wooden beam was a poor substitute for a caring father.

Mike did not hear Master Splinter approach, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder he was not surprised.  He swallowed and sniffed a little, beginning to feel calmer.

“Sensei, I know everyone else seems to be handling this, staying strong and all that,” Michelangelo said quietly without turning around.  “But I just can’t do it—I can’t stand seeing him this way!  He always seemed invincible—he always looked after me.  And now when I look at him, it just rips me up inside.”

“Michelangelo,” began Splinter, kneeling next to his son, “Showing emotion is not weakness.  We all deal with things in our own way.  I know you are strong, my son, and we must all use our strength now to help Leonardo in whatever way we can.”  He put his arm around Michelangelo’s shoulders and gave him a one armed hug.  After a minute he rose and went back inside.

Mikey continued to sit there for a few minutes, forehead pressed against the beam.  He thought about Master Splinter’s words and how they applied to him.  When he wiped his eyes, a new resolve was visible in them.  He pulled himself up, and clenched his fist.  He knew what he had to do.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Don was on duty in the morning when Leo woke up again, and he was particularly pleased when Leo requested just water instead of juice.  Leo didn’t have much of a sweet tooth (except when it came to ice cream), and they had been giving him mostly sports drinks.  Everyone else was asleep at the moment, and the two kept the silence for a while—Leo drinking water, and Don simply enjoying the quiet.  Then Leo spoke.

“Okay, Donny, time to level with me.  How bad am I?”

Donatello had known this talk was coming.  “Well, you don’t exactly smell like roses, and the whole vomiting thing was a little uncalled for,” he said with a straight face.

Leo laughed out loud at this completely unexpected response, even though it hurt his head to do so.  He also relaxed, knowing that Donatello would have been incapable of joking about his condition if he was too seriously injured.

Donatello chuckled a little then, too.  Then he said seriously, “Actually, I need a bit more information from you if you’re up to it,” he said.

“Okay,” said Leonardo, whose voice sounded much stronger today.

“For one thing, what hurts?”

Leo thought for a moment, assessing how he felt.  “It might be quicker for you to ask what _doesn’t_ ,” he concluded.

“Fair enough, I’ll try to narrow it down.  What’s worst?”

After another moment’s thought, Leo said, “My head.  It hurts in general, but it also pulses through my entire body when I move too much.  Makes me dizzy.”

Don nodded, mentally checking that off.  “Okay, what’s next worst?”

“My shoulder, I think.”

“Right or left?” asked Donny.

“The left,” he answered simply.

 _The one without the slashes_ , Don noted. 

Then he had Leo squeeze him with each hand in turn, wiggle his toes, and take some deep breaths.  Finally Don sat back.

“Okay,” he began as if giving an official report, “You have a concussion, which was probably made worse by being knocked about after you sustained the injury.  The dizziness should pass soon, but you could continue to have a headache for days to weeks.  Your right shoulder was slashed down into the muscle in two parallel cuts that stop on your upper forearm, so you now have more stitches than a baseball glove.  It’ll be a while before we know if you’ll regain the full range of motion that you had before, but at least you’ll have some use of it. 

“Your left shoulder is a bit tougher.  It’s not broken, and it’s not dislocated.  It could have _been_ dislocated, but if it was it was put back again later.  Or it could be that any of the muscles, tendons, or ligaments there were strained or even torn.  Diagnosis of any of those things would require an MRI, so all we can do is restrict movement of that arm and play it by ear.  Your grip with that hand isn’t too bad, though, so just try not to worry about it right now.  And that’s about it,” Don said, wrapping it up.  “The rest is the usual assortment of bruises and superficial wounds.”

Leo took in all of the information, and concluded he was probably lucky it wasn’t worse.

“No one else was very badly hurt?” he asked.

“Well, I guess quite a few ended up dead once we quit holding back, if that’s badly hurt enough for you,” said Don, still playing it straight.  He was rewarded with another laugh from his brother.  God, it was good to hear that laugh.

“I meant _our_ team, smart guy.”

“Oh, right.  We’re okay, nothing too serious.  Raph had his hand torn up pretty bad, but it’ll be fine.  And you got more stitches than he did, so he can’t even complain about it,” Don said easily.

By this time others were beginning to stir.  Mikey and Casey had taken watches during the night, so they were still sleeping, but April, Raph, and Master Splinter were soon up and about.  They chatted amicably as they ate breakfast, and then divided up the tasks for the morning.  Leo declined any food for the moment, but insisted that he was fine being left alone while they worked since he was going to sleep anyway.  Don was obviously not comfortable with that, but Splinter volunteered to stay close by while he did some chores, so Donatello relented.

Leo slept through until noon, when the whole family gathered together in the family room for lunch.  He awoke in a significant amount of pain, but to his surprise slightly hungry.  He managed to push himself up a little on his own, but Master Splinter spotted it and helped prop him up a bit.

“Care to try and tackle some food again?”  Donatello queried.

“I am a little hungry,” Leo replied.  “I’ll try not to get sick this time,” he added.

“It’s okay, I think the soup was just too much for you, so today we’re going to try something a bit simpler,” and from behind his back he pulled out green Jello.  Leo was not thrilled, but it _was_ a bit easier to manage, and he was even able to feed himself this time. 

While they ate, the rest of the group talked over the plans for the house.  Raphael wanted to install some sort of security system so they wouldn’t have keep watch every night, and they also decided to clear out the three upstairs bedrooms.  Michelangelo seemed very passive and withdrawn, but if anyone wondered why they just figured he was still waking up after standing guard half the night.

Leonardo listened, but after a while it was apparent that he was fighting hard to stay awake.  He didn’t feel sick, just full and sore and very tired.  Yet he didn’t really want to sleep—he had been doing so much of it recently.

“Leo, it’s okay,” said April.  “You need sleep to heal.”  But she could tell he was reluctant to do so.  “Tell you what, I’ll tuck you in,” she said.

So she went up to Leonardo and pulled the blankets up carefully around him, straightening out the wrinkles.  Then she pulled the shades down slightly to dim the light, and came back beside the couch.  Very tenderly, she placed a hand alongside his cheek, and kissed his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, now get some rest,” she said.  His eyes were already closed.  She stood up, and collected some dirty dishes to bring into the kitchen. 

As she was leaving, Casey sputtered, “What, he feeds himself and manages not to puke, and he gets a _kiss_ for it??!  I do that every day, so what do I get?!”

As she entered the kitchen, April called back over her shoulder, “It’s not the actions, it’s what they cost you.”

Mike, Don, Raph, and Casey all gaped at her, and then as one turned to look at Splinter.

“I do not claim to have the monopoly on wisdom,” Splinter said simply, and took a sip of his tea.

* * *

 

The afternoon was a busy one, but a lot of progress was made cleaning up the second floor.  The list of supplies was growing, and a trip into town would soon be necessary.  They were running low on food, too, so dinner was rather anticlimactic after the appetites they had all worked up.

Leonardo ate more jello, and when that seemed to agree with him he took another stab at the soup.  Everyone was quite pleased about it, though they made sure to keep clear of the side of the couch in case there was an encore of the previous night’s performance.  Fortunately, everything stayed down where it belonged this time.  Leo felt less dizzy now, but his head still throbbed and the pain from his injuries was increasing as his muscles stiffened up from inactivity.  Almost as if he was reading Leo’s thoughts, Don said,

“Leo, now that you’re eating okay, I’d like you to start taking some pills—an antibiotic as well as a mild painkiller.  It’s best if you take them when you have something in your stomach.”

“Sure, Doc,” Leo replied agreeably.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, but Mikey’s continued detachment was even more noticeable.  Raph tried a couple of times to get a rise out of him with some well aimed jibes, but Mikey just wasn’t there with his usual quick retort.

“Mikey, you feeling okay?” Donatello asked, thinking the last thing he needed was another sick turtle.

“I’m fine.  I think I’ll just turn in early.  Someone can wake me for second watch,” he said, and he grabbed a blanket and headed for one of the upstairs bedrooms.

“Great, just great.  Now there’s only Casey to make fun of, and he’s much slower on the uptake,” complained Raph.

“Hey!  I’m right here!” Casey objected. “And why am I the only other one for you to make fun of anyway?”

“Well, Leo might puke on me, Donny’s still feeding me pills so I’m not even gonna go there, Master Splinter would have me practicing meditation for a week, and I’m still holdin’ out for a kiss from April.  So that leaves you,” he answered with a wicked smile.

“We’ll see about that,” said Casey, and the two continued arguing.

Before long, though, everyone was ready to sleep.  April volunteered to take a turn at watch, and Casey quickly offered to keep her company.  April crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Is it because you’re hoping for a kiss, or because I’m a woman in need of protection?” she asked.  Then she let Casey stutter on for a while about how that wasn’t what he meant before putting him out of his misery and accepting his offer.  Her face was stern, but her eyes were dancing.

“I can stay up with Leo if you want,” said Raph said to Don and Splinter.

“Really, I’m okay.  You don’t need to do that,” protested Leo.

To everyone’s surprise, Don agreed with Leo.  He put some water next to the couch, and instructed Leonardo to wake someone if he needed anything else.

“And don’t be all heroic and suffer in silence because you don’t want to wake anyone up.  If I catch you doing that, I won’t give you anything but jello for a whole day,” Donatello threatened.

“Don?  There is one thing I could use,” said Leo.

“What is it?” asked Don attentively.

“A shower,” said Leo.

“You can say that again, Bro,” said Raph, slightly under his breath.

“Don’t let my condition fool you, Raphael,” said Leonardo warningly.  “If I move enough, I’m sure I could make myself dizzy and puke on you.”

Raph laughed off the threat, but he chose a sleeping spot at the other end of the room.

“I don’t know, Leo,” responded Don when Raphael had moved away.  “I’m just not sure you should be attempting the stairs just yet.  Why don’t you wait until you’re head’s stopped hurting so much.”  This last was not phrased as a question.

“C’mon, Don, I feel like Pigpen from Charlie Brown.  I’ll rest much better if I’m clean,” argued Leo.

“You used that one already, but nice try,” retorted Donatello.  Then his expression softened somewhat.

“Tell you what—if you keep down breakfast and lunch tomorrow, and you’re not too tired after that, then we’ll see, okay?  But you have to promise me right now you’ll be honest with me about whether you really feel up to it, or the deal’s off.”

One look at Don’s face told Leo it was the best offer he was going to get, so he quickly agreed.  After everyone had settled in for the night, stillness settled over the house and blended with the forest around it.

* * *

The fourth day of their stay at the farmhouse proceeded much the same as the previous, with cleaning and maintenance continuing.  Now that Leo could be left alone, Donatello was finding himself busier than ever as the default Mr. Fix It.  It seemed like every little thing that came up required his opinion.  Still, he did not forget his word to Leonardo, and he observed his brother carefully over lunch.  Leo seemed in good spirits, and his appetite was certainly improved.  But Don could tell by the tension in his jaw that he was frequently gritting his teeth, and he saw in the carefully controlled movements of his head that there was pain there as well.

“How’re you feelin’, Bro?” asked Don after the meal.

“Not bad,” Leonardo replied casually.  A little _too_ casually.

“Really?” asked Don.  “Good enough to try sitting up?”

Leo’s response was to push himself up a little, and slowly swing his legs over the edge of the couch.  Then, gritting his teeth, he shifted his upper body until his shell was more or less upright against the back of the couch.  He let his head fall back against the cushion, and tried not to let it show how much the effort had cost him.  But Donatello noticed the beads of sweat standing out on his brow, and was not remotely fooled.

“Piece of cake, huh?” said Donatello as he approached the couch.

“Sarcasm never did suite you, Donny,” answered Leo with his eyes closed.  He opened them when he felt Don sit down next to him on the couch.  Leo could tell Don was studying him, but he didn’t turn to face his brother—mostly because it would hurt his head.  Then he heard Donny sigh.

“All right.  We’ll help get you cleaned up.  Take a couple of pain killers now and rest a bit, and I’ll come back in an hour to help you up the stairs.”  Don handed Leo the pills and some water, and then he left to continue the task he had begun before lunch. 

An hour later the medicine had done its work, and Leonardo was less achy and stiff.

“All right, Master Splinter’s filling up the bath.  Are you ready?” Donatello asked as he entered the room.

“Let’s do it,” said Leo. 

Don went around to his brother’s right side, and tried to get Leo’s arm over his shoulder without hurting him too much.  Leo had to stop himself from crying out—the pain was worse than he had anticipated.  Don realized immediately that it was going to be a two-turtle job to get Leo up the stairs.

“Mikey, can you give us a hand here?” he called out when he saw Michelangelo come in the front door.  “We need to get Leo up the stairs.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” said Mike, and Don instructed him to go to the left side and try to grab Leo around the shell enough to support him.  He didn’t dare attempt to move Leo’s left arm because he didn’t know the extent of the damage there.  Slowly they rose up from the couch to a standing position, and Leonardo was unprepared again when his legs didn’t seem to be able to support him.  His brothers held him there for several moments while he tried to get them to obey, and finally he could feel some strength returning to them.  Leo had already broken out in a sweat again.

“Listen, maybe we should just do this tomorrow,” Don suggested.

“No,” said Leo, teeth clenched, “let’s just get it over with.”  Don saw the stubborn set of Leonardo’s face, and he nodded to himself resignedly.

Step at a time they made their way towards the foot of the stairs—fortunately it was only a short distance.  They stopped to let Leo rest once they got there, but by that time the pain in Leo’s head was pounding through his whole body like someone had put an internal subwoofer on full volume.  The room began careening around him, and darkness crept around the edges of his vision.  Suddenly he was falling . . .

Mike and Don weren’t even aware of their brother’s internal battle until they felt him going limp, and they had to struggle to keep him upright.

“Shell,” cursed Donny under his breath.  “He’s out, hold him up,” he grunted to Mikey.

“Should we bring him back to the couch?” asked Mike.

“No, I was half expecting this.  We’ll just bring him upstairs before he recovers.  I think the best way is to—,”

“—Don, I’m sorry but I can’t do this!” Mikey said, a look of near-panic on his face.  “Raph!” he called in relief as the brother in red walked in.  “Here, Raph, take over.”

Raphael obeyed in some confusion, and took hold of Leo’s shell.  Before they could ask, Mikey was out the front door.  Don and Raph exchanged bewildered looks, but with a limp Leonardo between them they had to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay,” said Donatello, “we have to get him upstairs, and I think the best way is just to link arms under his legs and behind his shell and make sort of a chair.”

“Got it,” grunted Raph.

They proceeded up the stairs slowly, but it wasn’t as bad as Don thought it would be.  “In retrospect, we should’ve done it this way from the beginning,” he said out loud to himself.

They carried him into the bathroom where Splinter was waiting.  The old rat raised his eyebrows as his gaze fell upon the unconscious turtle, but he did not comment.

“Sorry Master Splinter,” said Raph, “but Leo decided to take a little nap on the way up.”

“That means this will be a two-creature job,” said Don as they attempted to lower Leonardo gently into the bath.  They made sure to keep his right arm hooked over the edge of the tub to keep his stitches from getting wet, and the placed a towel behind his head so it rested gently on the rim.

“I can stay, Donny,” said Raphael.  “I was just comin’ in to ask what else you wanted me to do, and I know you were in the middle of somethin’.”

“Thanks,” said Don gratefully.  “I’ll get the bedding changed on the couch first, and don’t get your stitches wet either.”

Raphael put a plastic bag over his right hand to protect it, and he and Splinter began to wash Leonardo.  Several minutes later, as Splinter was tackling his son’s shell with a scrub brush, Leo began to come to.

“Guess you’re a platinum member, cuz you got the full service flight,” said Raph.

“If I pay more can I have someone else bathe me next time?” retorted Leo tiredly.

“What, you were hopin’ for April?? I guess your fainting ploy failed,” Raph said.  “You might wanna try something a bit more extravagant next time.”

Leo smiled weakly his brother’s banter.  It made him uncomfortable to be so helpless, but it did feel good just soaking in the hot water.  When he was clean, they let the water drain and Master Splinter went to fetch somebody to help carry Leo back downstairs.  Meanwhile Raph got Leo dried off as much as he could.  Splinter returned with Donny, and in short order they had Leo back down on the couch.  The trip made Leonardo slightly light-headed, but he did not faint again, and the feeling soon passed.

“There, that should hold you for a while,” said Don.

“Yeah,” said Raph, “and tomorrow if you should feel the sudden need get your nails done or something, too bad—the spa is closed.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Leo awoke the following morning, the sun was quite high and everyone else had already eaten and departed.  He could hear someone clinking dishes in the kitchen, and a minute later April emerged, wiping her hands on her sweater.

“Good morning, Leo!” she said brightly.

“Good morning,” he replied in kind.  “Have I slept the day away?”

“Not quite.  This was my morning for doing dishes, and I’ve only just finished them.  Can I get you something to eat?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, April,” Leo replied.

“Oh please, it’s no trouble at all,” she said as she walked back into the kitchen.

She returned a short while later with food for Leo, and two mugs.

“I made you some tea to go with your breakfast, so I thought I’d have a cup with you while you eat,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said giving her a grateful smile.  “I mean, for the tea and breakfast too, but mostly for the company.”

April smiled back warmly, and they sat in companionable silence for a while.  When Leo was finished eating, he frowned vaguely down at his mug while gently swirling the tea.

“Something on your mind?” April asked.  She knew Leo was not always one to share what he was thinking without being prompted.  He tended to be a bit more reserved than his brothers, and she used to think that because he did not voice his thoughts as often, he didn’t want to share them.  After getting to know him better, though, she realized that was not the case.  He just tended to internalize things without even being aware of it, and it didn’t always occur to him to voice his thoughts unless someone asked.

“Hmmm?” he said, looking up.  “Oh, sorry.  I guess I was just thinking about everything, you know, the events that lead us here.”  He looked back down at his cup.  “Our lives changed so quickly, I’m still trying to absorb it all.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t help that you’re missing a few days in there, too,” April said lightly.  She was quiet for a moment, noticing the familiar worry lines creasing her friend’s brow.  “But I think we’re all still trying to adjust to things.  It’s becoming easier to accept now, with you back with us, and making plans and fixing things up, you know?  And soon this place’ll begin feel more like a home.”

Leonardo looked up at her again, dark eyes full of concern.  “You know April, I’m glad you’re here with us and everything, but you don’t need to stay.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“I mean, we’re stuck in this limbo for a while, but you could go back to your place, start fixing things up.  I know you might not be able to open your shop again right away,” he said quickly, seeing her confusion but misinterpreting it.  “But it wasn’t you they were after in the first place.  If you were to lay low for a little while, you’d be fine in New York.”

April was looking down and shaking her head, not quite sure how to say it.  “Leo, I’m sorry.  I thought you heard that part.  My store, the building . . . it was destroyed.”  She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes though she could scarcely bring herself to do so.

His expression registered only shock.  “The whole building?  How . . .”  He closed his eyes.  “April, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“We don’t know how it happened exactly, but there was fire, and then we smelled natural gas.  We were lucky even to get out before it went up,” she explained.

“Hey April, there you are!” yelled Casey from the top of the stairs.  “What’s been keeping you?” he asked, oblivious to having interrupted anything.

“I was just keeping Leo company while he had breakfast,” April called up.

“Well when you’re done, c’mon up!  We thought we’d give you first choice of the bedrooms,” said Casey.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a second,” she replied. Then she got up and collected Leo’s dish.  She stood next to the couch for a moment.

“Leo.”

He looked up expectantly.

“If I did have somewhere else to go, I’d still be here with you guys.”

* * *

 

Over lunch that same day it was decided that they couldn’t put off a trip to town any longer, so they made plans to go that evening.  April and Casey volunteered to get groceries and other supplies they needed to buy while Don and Raph went treasure hunting at a junkyard.  Fortunately it got dark early enough that they didn’t have to worry much about being discovered.  To everyone’s surprise, Mikey declined the offer to join them on the expedition.  Raph studied Michelangelo carefully, but Donatello was too excited imagining what prizes he might find to be concerned. 

“Any special requests, Leo?” asked Casey as they prepared to depart that evening.

“Well, anything that might kill some boredom for the family couch potato,” answered Leonardo.

When they returned much later that night, the party was in good spirits.  They had replenished their food stores, and Don and Raph had managed to salvage a good deal of potentially useful things, including a very small television set that Don thought he could get working.  Leo and Splinter were already asleep upon their return, so they decided to wait until morning to sort through everything they had acquired.  But Raphael dug around until he found one specific item, and proceeded out to the roof where he speculated he’d find Mikey.

“Hey,” Raph said hesitantly as he approached his brother from behind.

“Hey,” Mike answered without turning around.

Raph sat next to him.

“Did you get good stuff?” inquired Mikey, but it didn’t sound as if he really cared.

“Yeah, some.”

“That’s good.” There was an awkward pause, and then Raph said,

“Uh, we got something that was on the list and, um, it was Casey’s job to pick so don’t blame me if it sucks.”  With that he pushed a parcel in Michelangelo’s lap and left.

Mikey overturned the slim brown paper bag and just stared at the comic books that slipped out onto his lap.

* * *

The following day was the first one in which there wasn’t any specific agenda to follow.  They had done as much as they could to make the house livable with the supplies they had, and everyone now had a designated place to sleep.  Casey and Raphael elected to share one upstairs room, Donatello and Michelangelo another, and April had the small room (the only one with a real bed in it) for herself.

Master Splinter had taken over the dining room that adjoined the living area.  There wasn’t much to it yet, but it gave him the space and seclusion he was comfortable with, and an old sheet hung over the door frame made a passable privacy barrier.

Having no specific tasks to do allowed everyone the luxury of pursuing their own interests.  Raphael, Donatello, and Casey decided to put their energies into building a low-tech but serviceable security system with some parts Don had collected towards that end.  April helped Splinter arrange his new living space and added some items from the supply run to other areas of the house.

Michelangelo just sort of went off by himself, and Casey reported that he had seen him in the vicinity of the barn several times.  Leo, of course, could do very little. For those with work to do, the next several days were quick as ribbon snakes slipping through the grass.  For Leonardo, the days were worms making their way across an endless stretch of wet pavement.  

At first it wasn’t too bad—he slept a lot, and when he was awake it was usually because his family was nearby.  It was comforting just to have them close, know they were safe.  Physical movement was still very difficult for him, and Donatello was adamant that he be patient and rest.  But the healing of his head outpaced that of the rest of his body, and soon he found himself awake a lot with no one around and nothing to distract him from the deep and acute pain of healing wounds.  He didn’t complain.  Leo rarely complained about anything.  Besides, the days were nothing to the nights.

In his dreams, he was always fighting.  Sometimes they were old battles, old enemies, and sometimes they were purely invented foes.  But mostly, mostly they were the ones that had driven them to this place.  After he awoke from one dream, he usually had trouble getting to sleep again, both because of the physical discomfort of still-healing wounds, and the mental discomfort of the residual nightmares that clung to him.  He endured these nightmares because he had no choice—but somewhere in the depths of his psyche, he also believed he deserved them for what he had failed to do.

One night, prior to completion of the security system, Michelangelo went down to the kitchen to get some coffee before taking up second watch.  On his way through the family room, he heard soft noises coming from the couch.  Moving closer, Mike watched his brother sleep—if you could call it that.  Leo was muttering to himself, hands clenching the blankets that were twisted around him.  His head jerked to the side suddenly, and he bared his teeth fiercely with a noise like a growl.  His breathing became more rapid, and he began to sweat lightly as his limbs jerked under the blankets.

Nightmares.  _As if what he’s been through hasn’t been bad enough_ , thought Michelangelo as Leo’s movements became more violent.  He considered trying to wake his brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  Sometimes dreams were worse if you woke in the middle of them, and there was always the chance that Leo wouldn’t remember this one if he was allowed to sleep through it.  Still, Mike wished there was something he could do. 

He felt guilty enough for not being around much the last few days, especially since he was aware that his brothers had been too busy to fix up the TV or be much company for Leonardo.  Mike too had been busy with his own project, but he admitted to himself that avoiding Leo was a side benefit.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to support his brother; it was just that it was too hard for him to hide how upset he really was.  Mike had already decided that sticking to his plan was the best way for him to help Leo in the long run.

Later, as he sat on the roof, the coffee and the needle-sharp winter air made it impossible for Michelangelo to forget Leo’s tormented sleep.  It made Mike’s stomach flip uncomfortably to think that right now the thing that Leo probably needed most was the one thing he could not provide—simple companionship.  But that did not mean he couldn’t somehow let Leo know that he wasn’t alone. 

When the sun peaking over the treetops signaled the end of his vigil, Mike went inside to grab something quick to eat.  The house was still quiet when he emerged from the kitchen, and Mike tiptoed over to the couch where he paused briefly before heading back outside and down to the barn.

Splinter was up before the others, and it was he who first noticed the comic books folded snugly under Leonardo’s arm while he slept.

* * *

The security system was completed that same day, and the afternoon was spent working the remaining bugs out of the system.  The toughest challenge was preventing the outside perimeter alarm from being constantly set off by deer.  They finally had to scrap that idea and narrow it down to just detecting things coming up the driveway.  That, combined with the alarm on the house itself, was the best they could do with the limited materials they had.

As Raph, Casey, Donatello, and April came in to warm up in front of the stove after the final set of tests, Don noticed how haggard Leo was and made a mental note to look him over that evening.  He did so after dinner, asking Leo how he was doing as he inspected the wounds.

“I don’t feel dizzy anymore, although I haven’t exactly been moving around much, and the pain in my head is down to a constant but dull ache,” he replied, trying to sound positive.

“And the rest of you?”

Leo shifted uncomfortably.  “There’s some pain,” he admitted grudgingly.

Don studied his eyes.  It was a big admission for Leo.  “I’ll bet.  Been having trouble sleeping?”  Leo didn’t respond, but his silence and the way he averted his eyes was answer enough. 

“I’ve got some stronger painkillers,” Don said authoritatively.  “Not very many, but enough to get you through the toughest spots." 

“Thanks Don, but it’s not necessary.  I can handle it.” 

“I know you can ‘handle it’, tough guy, but if you don’t get enough sleep it will only weaken your immune system and put you at risk of picking up some bug on top of everything else.  Listen, this is bound to be the most painful part of the healing process.  You have some deep muscle damage, especially in your arms, and the most intense pain tends to come even after a lot of the more superficial injuries have healed.  So it’s okay to not be a martyr for once and take something stronger _short term_ to help with the pain.”

Don got up to retrieve the drugs and left them in an unmarked bottle next to Leo’s other meds.  “Leo, I mean it Bro—take them if you need to,” he said, and he did not look away until he got a nod of assent from his brother.  “I’ll take those stitches out in a couple of days,” Don added as he left.

That night Leo awoke sweating and shaking from yet another nightmare ending in flames.  As he laid back panting and trying to shake off the dream, he was aware of excruciating pain that had taken up residence in his shoulders.  It was the kind of blazing torment that intensified even when he just kept still, so that it made him want to scream.  He knew he would never get back to sleep now, and he didn’t even know if it was close to morning.  He turned his head, and his eyes caught on his water and the row of pill bottles next to it.  He closed his eyes.  After five more minutes of gritting his teeth through the pain, he suddenly reached over and grabbed the unmarked bottle.

As promised, Donatello stopped by a couple days later to take out Leo’s stitches.  He softened up the scabs and the sutures as much as possible with warm water before clipping them, and then removed each one with a steady pull. 

“Hey Raph, let me get yours out too, while I’m at it,” he called to his other brother when he spied Raphael coming out of the kitchen.

“No need, Doc.  Things were itching like shell so I beat you to the punch,” Raph said, making a fish with his right hand and punching the air as he walked over to Don and Leo.

Don scowled at him.  “How long ago did you do that?”

“Oh, I dunno.  A while back,” he replied vaguely.  “It’s fine!” he snarled impatiently as Donatello seized his hand to examine it.

Don sighed exasperatedly and released Raph’s hand.  Not much he could do about it now anyway.  He turned back to Leo’s shoulder.

“How goes the torture, Leo?” Raph asked.  “Guess I shouldn’t have irritated Donny until he was finished with you.”

“It’s okay,” said Leo a bit thickly.  Raph studied him, trying not to seem too obvious.  Leo looked sleepy; his half-closed eyes a bit glassy.  _What does Donny have him on?_ he wondered.

He caught Donatello alone later that day, and asked him about Leo’s condition.

“Yeah, I gave him some stronger painkillers to take,” Don said matter-of-factly.  “He admitted he was experiencing ‘some pain,’ and it was preventing him from sleeping.”

 _That’s not the only thing preventing him from sleeping_ , thought Raphael darkly.  Michelangelo hadn’t been the only one to witness the nightly demons at work.

“Leo admitted that the pain was keeping him up?” asked Raph.

“Well, he admitted the pain part, which means that if anyone else was in his place, they’d be curled up fetal position weeping like a school girl,” said Don.

Seeing Raph’s skeptical expression, Don clasped his shoulder roughly and said, “It’s fine, Raph.  Give the guy a break; he can’t be a rock all the time.  After a couple days, he won’t need those things anymore.”

Raph acknowledged that Donatello probably knew best in matters like this, but even so he unobtrusively kept a close eye on Leo over the next several days.  Don had finally found the time to get the TV set working, and Leonardo spent most of the daytime hours, aside from mealtimes, staring in the general direction of the screen as the one channel that came in somewhat clearly showed program after program of the same mindless drivel.

By the fourth day with no change in Leo’s behavior, Raphael was beginning to lose his patience.  He had to snap Leo out of this somehow!  He could respect the fact that it took some time for pain to dissipate and muscles to heal, but it was not like his older brother to be so content just lying around day after day.  Raph admitted to himself that he was probably not the best one to address the situation, but the truth was he seemed to be the only one that thought there was a problem.  He didn’t bring it up again with Donny because he knew that when Don was in “doctor” mode, he wasn’t likely to agree with Raph that Leo needed to get up off his shell.  Even Master Splinter was very complacent about the whole thing, only stating that everyone healed at his own pace.

Raph decided to arrange for a private chat with Leo in hopes of helping him find a new pace—one that was actually moving _forward_.  He figured the only time he could be sure of some privacy was when everyone else was asleep, which meant essentially keeping watch over Leo all night in hopes that he woke up at some point.  Therefore late that night, Raph took a seat in the family room and idly twirled a sai as he thought about the best way to voice his concerns.  This was definitely not his usual approach, as anyone who had known him five minutes could testify to.  He was more of a ‘take immediate action’ type of guy. 

But even Raphael realized that some situations called for a change in tactics, and this could turn out to be a very delicate situation indeed.  Leo was not arrogant or boastful, but he did have a good deal of pride.  If there was one thing that might set him off, it would be his “hothead” younger brother trying to tell him what to do.

Hours passed, and for the most part Leo slept soundly.  As he watched his brother, Raphael could not help but be reminded of the night barely two weeks ago when they hadn’t even been sure Leonardo would live, and his thoughts drifted on along these lines.  Sometime in the small hours of the morning, Leo began to stir in his sleep.  Raph had seen his brother in the midst of one of his nightmares before, but it didn’t make it easier to witness again.  On the contrary, it almost made him change his mind about the whole thing and go to bed.  In the end, however, he remembered that he had given his word to protect the family, and that included protection even from themselves.

Leo half sat up as he awoke with a gasp, and then settled back slightly and attempted to calm his breathing as blood and fire swirled in his head.  He reflexively reached down beside the couch for the bottle of pills, but his hand grabbed at nothing.  He started when a voice nearby said,

“Lookin’ for somethin’?”

Peering into the darkness, Leo could vaguely make out a figure, which he had identified by voice anyway.  Leonardo wondered uncomfortably how long his brother had been there.  Raph had caught him at a very weak moment, and Leo subconsciously sought to reverse the impression. 

“Raph.  What do you want.”  It came out as a challenge, not an inquiry.

Raphael bristled at the unexpected harsh tone, but he reminded himself to be supportive and keep his cool.  “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re doin’ okay.  You ain’t been acting like yourself lately.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Leo said shortly, put every ounce of conviction he could muster into the statement.

“No offense, Bro, but if you’re so fine, why’re you still takin’ these pills?” Raph softly rattled the pill jar he held for emphasis, and tried to keep his tone gentle.

“They help with the pain,” Leo answered.  It bugged him that he couldn’t see Raph clearly in the dark; it was as if he was being circled by an invisible opponent.

“Leo, I’ve seen the kinda pain you’re talkin’ about, and believe me these ain’t the answer.”

“What the shell do you expect me to do, then, huh Raph?!” Leo said fiercely, real anger in his voice now.  “If you have all the answers, tell me what to do to get rid of these damn dreams and tell me how to magically make my injuries heal!”

And then something very rare happened—Raph had an insight so vivid and accurate it was like turning on a neon bull’s eye in his mind.  Everyone had been so relieved that Leo had survived and was recovering that no one had wanted to ask him for the details of his long battle with the Foot.  Or maybe they just didn’t want to _know_ the details.  They had only asked him how much he remembered, to which he had responded that he remembered everything up to some point during a skirmish with the Foot Elite.  Therefore no one really knew exactly what Leo had been through, and some instinct was telling Raph that was the very problem.

“You could talk about it,” Raph suggested quietly.

“No thanks,” came Leo’s instantaneous reply.

Raphael’s vision blazed red, and all thoughts of keeping cool vaporized at this curt rejection.

“Well fine then!” flashed Raphael.  “After all that bullshit you’re always spouting about stickin’ together and trusting your family, the Great Leader’s decided he’s better off solo.  So much for that idea.  If that’s the way it’s gonna be, I don’t think much of your chances.  You can’t even get off those stupid pills long enough to stand on your own two feet!  But hey, I ain’t tryin’ to tell you what to do.” 

Raph stood up with one hand on the sai at his belt, and took aim at the couch.  It was a perfect throw, and Leo jumped as the bottle of pills bounced off the back of the couch and onto his chest.

“You gotta decide that on your own,” Raph finished coldly before retreating back upstairs.

When Raphael reached the bedroom all he wanted to do was break things, but he couldn’t wake everyone up.  He considered going out to the roof, but then he would have to temporarily deactivate the security alarm.  Instead he stalked back and forth in the dark, fuming and cursing.  With no other outlet for his anger, he drew a sai and in a single motion tossed it up, caught it neatly by the tip, and threw it at the far wall of the bedroom.  The weapon hissed as it flew, tumbling the correct number of times before sinking into the wall with a satisfying thunk.  Fortunately it took a lot to wake Casey.

Raph resumed his pacing.  He had blown it.  Despite promising himself that he would do it right and control his temper no matter what, he had failed himself.  _Shit_. He had failed Leo.

Gradually, Raphael’s anger subsided as he paced and his head began to clear.  He realized that even though his intervention had gone all wrong, he didn’t have the usual luxury of just simply quitting or passing it off to someone else. 

_Until you’re with us again and ready to take over the lead, you can count on me to step up and do whatever it takes to keep our family safe._

“Whatever it takes,” he repeated to himself.  But he was not good at this kind of thing. What would Leo have done in this situation?  He would probably look for a new approach.  Raph stopped pacing and his eyes scanned around the room slowly as he contemplated his options.  Finally his gaze fell on the rumpled bedding by the wall where he slept, and his eyes narrowed in thought as he knelt down beside it.  He picked up an edge of the sheet and peered at it closely in the dark.  _Blue_.

* * *

After Raphael stormed off, Leonardo stayed awake thinking.  A long while later he could still hear quiet footsteps upstairs, so he knew his brother was up as well.  Leo’s anger had cooled, and he was able to admit to himself that he had overreacted so much because Raphael’s words had the sting of truth.  He _had_ been relying too heavily on the drugs, using them to numb pain and emotions that had nothing to do with physical wounds.

He was forced to acknowledge that part of the problem stemmed from his own recent feelings of inadequacy.  He had always bourn the burden of leadership with a deep appreciation of the risk taken by those who placed their faith in his abilities.  One slip up on his part, and their lives could be forfeit.  He knew that; he accepted the possibility every day, and prayed that the faith they put in him wasn’t misguided.  But accepting the possibility of error wasn’t the same as staring at the aftermath.  How could he ask them for their trust again when he no longer trusted himself to lead them?

And would a decent leader react as he had to Raphael’s well-meant words?  It had probably been very difficult for Raph to reach out to him; that had taken real mettle, and yet all Leo had been able to think about were his own problems.  Maybe he should follow his brother’s advice . . . then Leo’s eyes opened up wide in the dark.  _Follow!_

Maybe he couldn’t lead, but he could try and follow.  Let someone else take the baton—he’d make sure he was ready to back them when the time came.  He sighed with release as the yoke of responsibility crumbled, and he inhaled to let the new sense of purpose fill him.  If that was the best contribution he could make, then the first step was to try and become a useful member of the team again.  The painkillers remained untouched next to the couch.

As the sky gradually began to lighten outside the frosted windowpanes, Leonardo felt the last effects of the drugs he had been taking trickle away, bringing new strength to both his mind and his body.  At first he braced himself for the pain he knew would be forthcoming, but was surprised when it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.  He was still very sore, but the deep biting pain had abated.  Leo stretched his muscles slowly, and decided it was time to get up.

Very slowly he sat upright, and using the arm of the couch for support he gradually pulled himself up.  It was difficult at first because his legs did not want to support him and he couldn’t rely too heavily on his arms, however his legs quickly remembered what to do.  Soon he was standing mostly upright, using the couch for balance and reveling in the small victory.  He made the decision to strike out for the chair on the other side of the room, but first he closed his eyes and took a moment to summon all the focus and strength he could muster.

The sound of slow clapping nearby made his eyes snap open, and there was Raphael with a big ‘I told you so’ grin plastered on his face.  Leonardo’s surprise nearly caused him to fall over, precarious as his balance was, but in a flash Raph was beside him and lending a strong arm for support.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Leo said, somewhat embarrassed again.

“I’m always here if you need me,” replied Raph seriously, and his arm tightened around Leo’s shell in what _almost_ felt like a hug.  “I said you had to make the _decision_ on your own—I’ll help you with the rest.”

With Raph for support, he made it to the chair and then back again before collapsing exhausted on the couch.

“I have a long way to go,” Leo said as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Well, think of it this way—it can’t be any tougher than those first steps,” Raph said by way of encouragement.  Then Raph cleared his throat awkwardly before saying, “Here, you’ve earned this.  It’s kinda homemade, but it’s a good color for you.”  He held out his fist, and dropped a strip of blue fabric into Leo’s lap.

Leo picked up the mask and studied it with wonder.  “Thanks, Raph.”  Their eyes met briefly, and all that was left unsaid was conveyed in a look.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time the others woke up, it was to find Raph and Leo on the couch eating breakfast.  The family was euphoric when they saw Leo sitting up and in his blues again, and Master Splinter seemed particularly relieved for one who had claimed everyone healed at their own pace.  Mikey was simply speechless with joy—all he could do was grin and rub his big brother on the head.  Don looked at Raph suspiciously, but when he finally caught Raph’s eye he simply smiled.  April kept back but gave Leo a wink while he was surrounded by everyone else.

They talked and laughed over breakfast, and Casey declared that the other turtles had better take the opportunity to trounce Leo now while they were assured of winning, because he’d be back to kicking their shells again soon. 

“Don’t worry, there ain’t no rush guys,” corrected Raphael.  “Right now all you gotta do is help him stand an’ then let go, and you’ve got him beat,” he said with a wicked grin.  “Might be more fun if you wait ‘til you at least have to knock him down.” 

As everyone laughed, Raph cast a sidelong glance at Leo to see how he’d taken these last comments, but he needn’t have worried.  Leo was taking the hits and laughing good naturedly along with everyone else.

“You were up this morning, Leo?” asked Don when the laughter had died down.

“Yeah, after a ‘pep talk’ from Raph we went for a little stroll,” he answered, wondering if he was in for a scolding.

“Then now’s a good time for me to wrap your arms to restrict the movement for a while, and you’ll be all set,” Don said, effectively letting Leo know that the rest of his rehabilitation was up to him.

It was a good day.  April insisted that it was time to celebrate the holiday season, since everyone had been too preoccupied up until now, so she set about making sugar cookies.   She didn’t have an actual rolling pin or cookie cutters, but by using a coffee can she was able to roll the dough thin.  She asked the others to help her cut out shapes with knives, declaring she had a special prize for the one who created the best cookie. 

It began well, with everyone cutting simple objects like candy canes or Christmas trees, but those soon gave way to more complex shapes.  Leo tried to do a reindeer, but everyone poked fun at him saying it looked more like a cow.  Casey made a passable angel and said it was for April.  Before it could go in the oven, however, Raph “accidentally” decapitated it with his sai.  Casey took revenge by making a very lumpy turtle shape and spelling “Raph” on it in cocoa powder before squashing its head.  Donatello spent all of his time on one large cookie that turned out to be a miniature replica of the farmhouse they were staying in, down to the last window.  Michelangelo cut tiny cookie weapons, even including Splinter’s walking stick and some shurikens that could also pass for snowflakes.

In the end, though, it was Splinter who took the prize with a stylized dove cookie.  He had used a fork to detail some of the feathers, and also made cookie letters to spell out the word “peace” below it.  As his prize, April told him he was off the hook for cleanup, and despite their complaints she put the others to working washing bowls and pans and sweeping up crumbs.  April told Leo he didn’t have to clean either, but he insisted it was only fair that he help.  So they set him up in a chair next to the kitchen sink and handed him dishes to dry.

They spend the afternoon laughing, eating cookies, drinking hot cocoa, and playing old board games that Casey found in a cabinet.  Due to the wide array of cookie shapes and sizes, many of them were slightly burnt or else undercooked, but nobody seemed to mind.  Finally, to end the holiday, they decided to go all out and cook the frozen pizzas they had been saving since the last trip into town.  Everyone went to sleep that night full and contented, and in the weeks and months to come all of them would occasionally draw on the memory of the idyllic day for strength when it was most needed.

* * *

 

The days that followed passed with only the occasional ripple as everyone settled down to their own activities once again.  Leonardo continued to try and regain his strength and mobility, and Raph became his self-appointed coach as well as his main companion during rest periods.  Leo began with short but frequent walks around the house with Raphael’s help, followed by rests in which the two often played cards or made fun of some program on TV. 

Raph seemed to have gone back to his usual self after the brief Mr. Nice Guy routine, and he frequently employed his typical set of insults and sarcasm to motivate Leo to work harder.  And work he did, for although the exercise started out gentle, the periods of activity gradually increased in length and intensity until he would fall onto the couch exhausted every night.  Leo had both good days and bad days.  On the good days, Raphael pushed him hard.  On the bad days, he pushed him _harder_.

The two brothers hadn’t spent this much time together since—well, ever.  And it wasn’t always smooth sailing, either.  They frequently butted heads, and the altercations usually ended with Raph storming out for a while to blow off some steam.  But he always came back for his brother’s next session and acted as if nothing had happened, so it soon became apparent that this was just their dynamic.

Meanwhile, with no more repair jobs to oversee and Leonardo in (mostly) capable hands, Donatello was finally free to pursue his own interests exclusively.  As all of his brothers could attest to, when Don had something he wanted to accomplish he tackled it with a single-mindedness that overshadowed everything else.  He began collecting books on all sorts of topics from wherever he could get them:  mechanics, physics, chemistry, physiology, history—and he didn’t just read them but studied them.  He had everyone keep an eye out for books on any trips into town, and soon his room began to resemble a library.

It worked out rather well for him that Mikey was seldom around during the day, because then he had the quiet he needed as he poured over the texts.  He became almost feverish about it, and whenever anyone managed to find a book with a fairly recent copyright, he was overjoyed.  His behavior did seem rather odd to everyone else, but then, it was Donny.  They never really did understand his affinity for books and studying.

Splinter, too, was keeping mostly to himself.  He spent a good deal of time in meditation, which was not unusual for him, but he seemed more distant somehow.  Even in the early part of their stay at the farm, he hadn’t taken up the dominant role that everyone was used to.  Instead of being in the center of the household activities, he had remained on the periphery—present, but not prominent.  The difference was subtle, and although the turtles in particular were slightly confused by it, they knew their Sensei probably had his reasons and left it at that.

April had taken to writing a lot, something she had always done as a kid but which had faded away as the time constraints of adult life set in.  Initially it was a good outlet for her own thoughts—a diary of sorts.  She was still trying to come to grips with the loss of her apartment and everything in her antique store, though she didn’t speak much about it.  She knew the turtles and Splinter blamed themselves for her loss, and she didn’t want to make them feel any worse—after all, they had very nearly lost something much more precious.  But she still needed to go through the process of healing in her own way.

Eventually, though, April found herself enjoying writing in a different way.  She started jotting down daily occurrences, funny events, even detailed character sketches of those around her.  Finally the writings became stories and sometimes even poems of her own invention, and she could spend hours sitting next to a window with a cup of coffee just writing.  She even admitted to herself that her writing might one day come to something more, but for now she was content just to do it for herself.

Michelangelo had continued his project in the barn, and it soon became known that he was turning it into some sort of training facility.  Usually when Mikey was working on anything, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.  No one ever had to keep tabs on what he was doing because they knew they’d hear about it soon enough. This time, though, it was different.  Mike was not interested in sharing what he was doing with his brothers, nor was he trying to hide it—he simply didn’t care what they thought. 

One day Casey’s curiosity got the better of him, and he made his way over to the barn to check it out.  He found that Michelangelo had cleared a large space in one side of the barn, the rest of which was filled with old farm equipment and the like.  The creative turtle had also utilized whatever odds and ends he could find to make workout equipment.  For example, an old sack filled with a mixture of sand and hay served as a punching bag, pieces of old machinery were hanging from ropes thrown over a rafter as counterweights for strength training, and old sheets of plywood and some squares boards were targets for weapons practice.

Casey was intrigued and asked Mike if he could help him with the renovations and utilize the facilities as well.  Michelangelo said he didn’t care, and then went back to conditioning with his makeshift jump rope.  Mike and Casey, although friendly with each other, had never really quite clicked the way Raph and Casey did.  But as Casey began to spend more time in the barn, Mike had to concede that Casey did have some good ideas for the facility, and besides that he was quite handy with tools. 

Before long the others came down to the barn, too (except Leo, who wasn’t quite up to it yet), and they all told Mike what a good job he had done—he usually wasn’t so industrious.  But whereas Mikey normally ate up praise when he received it, this time he brushed it off as nothing and carried on with what he had been doing.

Everyone was somewhat mystified at the changes Michelangelo’s behavior since arriving at the farm.  He was definitely more serious and less talkative at dinner time, but that could easily be explained away as fatigue from working all day in the barn.  Nobody suspected there was anything more to it until one particular incident that took place soon after at the house.

Breakfast was over, and everyone except Splinter was still in the vicinity.  Donatello and Mikey were taking their turn with dishes, April was drinking tea and writing, Casey was working on a second cup of coffee, and Raph was helping Leo tackle the stairs as the next challenge for his physical therapy.

Leo was struggling with the stairs as it was his first time attempting them solo.  Holding the railing with his right arm, he would rest almost his full weight on it as he stepped up with one foot, but using the railing also put some stress on his arm.  The left arm was kept bound to his side for now, so he couldn’t use it at all, and the right shoulder still hurt quite a bit when he used those muscles.  Once he had both feet on the same stair, he would rest, and so it went.

Raphael stood behind him just in case he started to fall, and also for “encouragement,” as he put it.

“Leo, would you mind steppin’ it up a bit?  Ha, no pun intended.  I’m gonna fall asleep on my feet here in a minute.  Even Mikey would get the hang of this quicker,” Raph said.  He had seen Mikey come out from the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, and he never missed an opportunity to strike two with one hit.

“You guys can cut the ‘Mikey’ crap.”

Raph turned, and only barely kept his jaw from dropping open at the sight that met his eyes.

Michelangelo stood near the entrance to the kitchen, his shoulders squared, mouth set in a line, eyes defiant as he stared them all down.

“I’m not a little kid anymore, so just stick to ‘Mike’ from now on.”  He stated this loudly, but he didn’t shout, and he didn’t wait for a response.  He just walked out the front door and slammed it shut behind him.

Everyone just stared at the door after he left, stunned.

“I’m sorry,” said Casey, “but am I goin’ crazy or did Mikey just do a storm-off?”

“Man, Raph, what did you say to get under his shell like that?” asked Don from the entrance to the kitchen.

“Nothing!  Well, nothin’ worse than the usual,” Raph corrected himself.  Raphael turned to look at Leo, who shrugged.

“Did anyone know he had such a problem with being called Mikey?” asked April.  “I only call him that because I assumed he likes it.”

“He does like it.  _Did_ like it,” Don verified.  “He’s introduced himself as Mikey lots of times.”

“Should we go after him, do you think?” asked April with concern.

“Nah, let him be—I’ll go down later and see what’s up,” said Raph, and he shook it off.

Or at least pretended to.

The incident disturbed Raph more than he liked to admit, and while Leo continued making his way up the stairs, he replayed it in his head over and over again.  It wasn’t really what Mike had said, it was his entire demeanor that was shocking.  Michelangelo was probably the least confrontational of all of them.  Oh, Donatello was a close second, but no one really picked on Donny either, so he didn’t have as much reason to stand up for himself. 

Mikey, on the other hand, was picked on frequently, and never once could Raphael remember him becoming so angry or standing up to anyone like that.  He was so easy-going most of the time.  And yet, there was no doubt about it from the way he had just stared them all down—whatever had gotten into him, Michelangelo meant business.

Leo eventually made it upstairs, and decided to take the opportunity to shower while he was up there.  Meanwhile Raph and Casey set about making space in their bedroom and moving Leo’s things upstairs into it.  When Leo got out of the shower, Raph surprised him by showing him his new accommodations.

“See, this way,” explained Raph, “you can’t hog the couch all to yourself anymore.  And plus, since you’ve proven yourself capable of climbing the stairs, you can practice by climbing ‘em every day from now on.”  Leonardo gave a dramatic groan at this last statement, but inwardly he was pleased with the upgrade.

While Leo was relaxing, Raphael decided to seek out Mike down at the barn.  When he got there he quietly pried the door open enough to squeeze through, and was glad that it was slightly warmer inside the barn than out.  He stood for a several minutes watching Michelangelo work out and letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. 

Mike was training on a practice dummy that was fixed to the floor with a spring, kicking and punching it relentlessly in a repetitive pattern of movements which he periodically varied.  Raphael had never seen his younger brother working out with such intensity and focus before—it was visible in his every movement and posture.  Seeing the difference now, Raph couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it prior to this morning.

The session seemed to go on forever, and it ended only when Michelangelo was so out of breath he couldn’t continue.  He held a defensive stance for a moment longer, and then bent forward with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. 

After a minute, without turning around or straightening up, Mike said, “Hey Raph.”

“Uh, hey.  I didn’t wanna interrupt . . .”

In truth Raphael hadn’t realized Mike knew he was there.  He expected his brother to turn around at this point and ask what he was doing here, but Michelangelo simply straightened up and began pacing slowly while stretching out his arm muscles.

“Listen, uh, I’m sorry for what I said back at the house.  I only meant it as a joke,” Raph said when he realized his brother wasn’t going to speak.  Finally Mike stopped pacing and faced him, wanting to see if Raph was being sincere. 

Raphael half expected Mike to break into a grin at this point and laugh about how easily he had tricked everyone, but he didn’t.  He just shrugged.

“S’all right,” Mike said simply.  Then he walked over to a horizontal bar fixed to the wall, leapt up, and starting doing pull-ups.

Raphael was at a loss.  _That was easy_ , he thought.

“So we’re good then?” Raph asked skeptically.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Mike grunted without breaking his rhythm.

Yet Raph didn’t leave.  He stood there, waiting for some revelation to come, but he was not so lucky this time.  He had no idea what was going on in Michelangelo’s head.  It just seemed so _wrong_.  For all the times he had criticized Mikey for his seeming lack of maturity, he had always striven to preserve that innocent quality his little brother held.  He guessed that he, Leo, and Don all had, and he wondered if it was the same with big brothers everywhere.  No matter what trials they had faced, or what events had threatened to destroy their family, things couldn’t be too bad if Mikey could still find joy in skateboarding and video games.

Raph also realized he had missed joking around with his little brother lately.  If he had bothered to analyze himself further, Raphael may have reached the conclusion that striking out at Mikey in mock anger served to release some inner pressure that would otherwise have been expressed in less healthy ways.  The fact that Michelangelo never took the abuse too seriously made him a safe target.  Turning around, Raph started to exit the barn, but then he hesitated.  Maybe he should try once more to reach his brother.

“Mike,” he began. 

No response.  Michelangelo just continued his pull-ups.  Raph decided to assume he had heard.

“Um, if you need any help down here with trainin’ or anything, I could . . .” he broke off as Mike finally paused in his exercise, dropped back to the ground, and turned to face him.

“Sure, Raph, cuz after all these years I still can’t train without your help.”  The sarcasm in his voice was as obvious as the sweat dripping off his body.

“That ain’t what I was getting’ at,” Raph said, putting up his hands and mentally taking a step back.  “Look,” he continued, trying a different approach.  “It ain’t easy for me either, seeing Leo like this.  Actually, it kills me,” he said admitted reluctantly.  “But we—,”

“You think that’s what this is about?!” Mike was shouting now.  “You just don’t get it!” and he stood there glaring at Raph.  “But that doesn’t matter,” he said more calmly to himself.  Then he walked over to the stack of free weights Casey had managed to acquire and selected one.

“Mikey— _Mike_ , what’s gotten into you?!” Raph responded, utterly confused and slightly angry because of it.

“Tell you what, Raph, here’s how you can help—leave me alone so I can train,” Mike said flatly.

“Fine!  You got it, Bro!” and Raph stalked out, angry with his brother for being so difficult, and angry with himself for failing to discover why.


	6. Chapter 6

Leo’s progress was rapid after he was relocated upstairs.  Soon he was moving about the house normally, and shortly thereafter he began making forays outdoors dressed in an oversize coat and large warm boots.  Initially just walking to the barn to check out the training area tired him; it was much harder walking over uneven terrain covered in snow than walking around inside the house.  But as the muscles in his legs started to come back, he began to wander farther afield.

At first, Raphael accompanied him almost everywhere.  Although Leo didn’t really mind, he was nevertheless slightly relieved when Raph decided that there was really no need for it anymore.  Leo had become quite pensive, and he began to wander about in the woods for greater and greater lengths of time.  He justified it to his family by stating that the only way he was going to regain his old strength was by exercising, and since he wasn’t ready for actual workouts long hikes seemed like just the thing.  That was definitely part of it, but the full truth was that he wanted to be alone and he couldn’t explain why.  It was as if he was searching for something—he just didn’t know what.

After Leo didn’t really need his help anymore, Raph was rather at a loss for activities to fill his days.  He occasionally put in some time in the barn, though his workouts seemed pathetically easy in comparison to Mike’s hyper-intense training sessions.  Some days he helped Casey work on an old bike he was restoring that he had salvaged from the junkyard.  Other times he hung out with April, who didn’t mind taking time off from her writing to play cards, go for a hike, or just watch TV with him.  He was occasionally even successful at tempting Don away from his books for a break, but they never lasted long.  It was very frustrating for him to be just waiting around, but he knew that Leo needed more time so he tried not to complain too much.

As weeks passed, April noticed that everyone seemed to be spending increasing amounts of time by themselves.  At first, they were at least together for meal times, but then Leo began packing lunches so he could stay out all day hiking when weather permitted, and Mike never sat down for breakfast and instead just ate something on his way down to the barn.  Don would often get so caught up in his studying that he would forget meals altogether.  Even Master Splinter, who kept to the regular eating schedule longer than anyone else, began bringing food into his room more frequently.  So then it was just during dinner that the family was all together.  Eventually even that ceased, and it became normal for everyone to simply fend for themselves or reheat leftovers at whatever arbitrary time they grew hungry.

April did not think this distancing was intentional by anyone—rather, it seemed to be just an effect of everyone’s activities carrying them in different directions.  Even so, she sensed that all of the turtles were struggling somehow.  Whenever she was around any of them these days, they seemed withdrawn and distracted.  She mentioned it to Casey, wanting to know if he had picked up on it too, but he replied that it was probably no big deal, so she didn’t bring it up again.

Yet April was convinced something was missing—something important.  Instead of things getting easier for them as time passed, they got harder.  Though the turtle brothers encountered one another semi frequently as they went about their daily activities, they behaved more like strangers that occasionally shared living space than brothers or comrades.

After several days of indecision, April made up her mind to broach the subject with Splinter.  She went to his quarters shortly after breakfast one morning and knocked gently on the door frame. 

“Enter,” called Splinter from inside.

April pulled the fabric aside and went through the door, feeling unaccountably nervous.

“Ah, Miss O’Neil, what can I do for you?” asked Master Splinter pleasantly when he saw her.

“Hi,” she said with a smile.  “Actually, I was just hoping you might have some time to talk.”

“Please, come in and sit down,” he said by way of an answer.  He gestured to a cushion on the floor near him.

“Thank you,” April said.  She made herself comfortable while Splinter waited calmly to hear what she had to say.  April didn’t quite know how to start, and she found herself wishing she had thought to bring some tea—at least then her hands would have something to do.

Splinter sensed the young woman’s hesitation.  “Now, what is it you would like to speak with me about,” he prompted.

“I . . . I just wanted to ask you—to make sure everything’s okay with you . . . and the guys,” she said haltingly.

“What is it specifically that concerns you?”

“I’m sorry if I’m meddling, it’s just that everything seems a bit . . . off, lately.  Like even when you’re all together, everyone’s . . . alone.”  She narrowed her eyes a little as she looked at the rat’s patient face, trying to discern whether or not he knew what she meant.  Then she looked down and studied her hands.  “I wondered if there might be something I could do. 

“You do not need to apologize for being concerned for those who are your friends.  We are lucky to be counted among them,” Splinter answered, trying to set her at ease.  “These things have not escaped my notice.”

He paused momentarily, sighing heavily.

“However,” he continued, “there is nothing for us to do.”

April was quick to note the peculiar way Splinter had phrased the last statement, and she knew him well enough to realize it was not insignificant.

“Nothing we _can_ do?  Or nothing we _should_ do?” she asked, meeting his eyes again.

Splinter smiled slightly in spite of himself.  He should have known she would not miss the ambiguous nature of his reply.  The aged rat didn’t respond immediately, but carefully considered how best to explain.

“An ant colony functions as a single, cohesive unit,” he began.  If April wondered what ants had to do with turtles, she kept it to herself.  “Each member does what is needed for the good of the entire colony without needing to be told what that is.  It is part of their collective knowledge.

“If our family was an ant colony and you could look down and watch our behavior right now, you would see my sons scrambling around performing the tasks they feel are best for the family—but lacking the collective consciousness of an ant colony, none can see what the others are doing.  Thus their patterns appear random.

“Normally, I provide the direction required for things to run smoothly.  I have tried to teach my sons the simple skills they need to survive, but how to put them together while functioning as a team and a family is something they have yet to learn.”  Here he paused again, studying April to see if she followed him so far.

“But it is not so simple this time,” he continued.  “Children can be taught, at least to some degree, by using directives.  Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael, young as they are, are no longer children.  It would be impossible to fight the kind of battle they did, suffer the kind of defeat they did, and still remain children.  So now they must learn as adults learn.”

“The hard way,” April finished for him.

Splinter nodded.

“I understand, Sensei, I really do,” April told him.  “It’s just so hard to watch sometimes,” she said, shaking her head slowly while looking down.  Then she looked up at him again.  “But if you believe they’ll get through this on their own, then I have to believe it too.”

A short time later April rose, thanked Splinter for the talk, and left him to his thoughts.

“I only hope I am right,” the father whispered to himself. 

He didn’t want to consider the alternative.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

“Yo, Raph,” Casey said after glancing up briefly from the motorcycle he was working on.  “Come to lend a hand?” he asked.

“Maybe.  Sure.  I dunno,” Raph responded, sounding disgruntled.  A moment later Casey jumped at a loud crash as an old paint can Raph had kicked hit a shelving unit on the far side of the shed.  Casey looked up just in time to see his friend punch the wall and then curse as he rubbed his fist.

“There’s beer outside on the right,” Casey said simply.

Raphael pulled two bottles out of the snow drift, and handed one to Casey when he returned.  Casey continued working, occasionally asking Raph to pass him a tool or a part.  After Raph had drunk more than half the bottle, he said,

“I wish I had a clue what the shell we’re doin’ here.”

“I know you can be a bit slow to catch on, but c’mon, man—you’ve worked on bikes before.”  Casey grinned to himself.  Raph rarely left himself so wide open.

“Screw you, Jones,” shot Raphael.  He finished the bottle.

“Good one, you sure got me there,” retorted Casey sarcastically.

Raph got another beer, and this one he took more slowly.  Casey could be a pain in the ass, he reflected, but he was a good listener and he never pushed.

“What I mean is, we been here more than two months now, and we still ain’t doin’ anything.  I don’t know how everyone can take it!” vented Raph.  “I mean, shouldn’t we be trainin’, or havin’ meetings, or something?!” he fumed.

“Well, maybe Leo’s still not up to it,” suggested Casey.  “Have you talked to him?”

“Talked to Leo?  No, I ain’t talked to Leo, the guy’s been MIA so much lately I couldn’t talk to him if I wanted to!  He leaves at dawn, returns at dark, an’ goes right to sleep.  Same with Mike.  Don’s at least easy to find—he never leaves those stupid books!”

Raph growled in frustration, and then grew silent again as he drank.

After another long silence, Casey said, “You could still talk to him, though.  If you wanted.”

“Who?” asked Raph.  He had been lost in thought and working on another beer.

“Leo.  It ain’t like you can’t track him in the snow.  So go ask him,” prodded Casey.

“Maybe,” said Raph doubtfully.  _Well, it did the trick last time_ , he thought.  Maybe Casey was right.  Maybe Leo just needed another little pep talk.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” admitted Raph.  “I’ll go find him.”  He set down another now-empty bottle, and started towards the door.

“Hey Raph,” called Casey.  “Raph!”

“What?” said Raph from the doorway.

“You might wanna wait until tomorrow, Amigo.”

“Huh?  Why?” asked the turtle.

“Cuz it’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” replied Casey.

“So what?  I can find him just as well now as well as any other time,” Raph answered irritably.

“Sure ya can, but I don’t think your big brother will be too impressed when you show up smellin’ like a brewery in the middle of the afternoon.  But if you wanna find him, great.  Just gimme a second—I ain’t missin’ a show like that!” Casey said as he started to get up.

“Don’t bother,” Raph grumbled, and slammed the door as he left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The next day Leo left the house before dawn again, wanting to be out when the deer he often tracked might still be active.  He had become quite good at stalking them by now, and could usually approach the herd undetected.

At first, Leonardo’s hikes in the extensive forest surrounding the farmhouse had been random.  He had just walked.  But after a time, he had found himself following deer trails through the snow because they were slightly packed down and easier to travel on.  Most days if he got anywhere close to the animals, they were gone before he even saw them.  He had barely given it a second thought.

Late one afternoon, though, completely at random, he had ended up on a ridge that overlooked part of a clearing.  Below him, at the forest edge, were several does with their young from the previous spring.  He had watched them absently from above as they browsed, stripping bark from saplings.  Then his eye caught movement farther downhill. By squinting and watching the area, he could barely make it out when it moved again—a lynx!  A rare predator in these parts.  The hunter must have been extremely desperate to consider going after deer, but there was no doubt it was stalking them.

Leo watched with interest as the cat crept closer and closer to the prey.  Finally, as the lynx took cover near a bush and prepared to spring at the nearest half-grown fawn, one of the does’ heads popped up, and it sneezed to alert the others.  In a flash, tails flagging, they were off, and the cat stalked off in a dignified sort of way to find prey elsewhere.

The episode was over quickly, but Leo thought about it for a long time afterward.  The cat had known just where to approach from, exactly where to step every time.  And it had not made a sound.  Since then, Leo thought that as long as he was in the forest, he may as well be practicing the same kind of stealth.  So he began stalking animals.  And that was what he was doing the next day when Raphael came looking for him. 

Leo was close to a small band of deer and had them in sight when one doe jerked her head up and froze facing his general direction.  _She must have smelled me somehow_ , Leo thought, though he had been careful to approach wide and from downwind.  However the doe did not sound an alarm, but turned and melted into the brushy forest.  The others followed silently.  That was not the usual reaction to a threat as close to them as he was—they should have sneezed and bounded away.  Leo’s brow furrowed in thought.  They must have detected something else. 

Leo backtracked in a wide loop, and it wasn’t long before he heard whatever it was that had disturbed the deer crunching through the snow.  Using the sound as a guide, Leo got around behind it and examined the tracks.  Boot prints.  Could mean anyone.  Whoever it was, they were following Leo’s own trail from that morning.  _Piece of cake_ , he thought.  Since he knew exactly where his trail went, he simply had to get back around in front of his pursuer and confront him or her on the trail.

Meanwhile, the turtle in red was not exactly enjoying his trek through the forest after his brother.  He hadn’t expected Leo to travel so far in the short time since dawn, and already Raph was wishing for a hot cup of cocoa and a seat next to a fire.  He shivered and pushed the thought out of his mind.  Just as he was coming down over a slight rise, he heard a noise from above and reflexively reached for his sai as he jumped backward, landing in a crouch.  Before he could find the weapons under his bulky coat, Leo dropped down from a tree and landed in front of him, smiling.

“I would’ve had you there, Bro,” Leonardo said.  “What brings you out here?” he asked, straightening up and brushing some snow off his hat.

Raphael, who was still trying to get his pounding heart under control, scowled at him.

“That wasn’t fair.  I was supposed to be lookin’ for _you_ ,” said Raph.

Leo shrugged.  “Could have been worse.  I could have lead you in circles,” he replied coolly.

“Guess I’d rather have death by heart attack than by hypothermia,” concluded Raph.  “At least it got my adrenaline pumping—I don’t feel so much like a turtle sundae.”

“I can make a fire if you want,” Leo offered.

“Nah, I’ll be heading back soon.  I just wanted to have a quick word.”

“What’s up?” asked Leo.

“Well, for starters, how’s it goin’ for you out here?”

“Fine,” Leo answered, slightly confused.

“I mean, are you feelin’ good, getting stronger an’ all that?” probed Raph.

“Yeah, I guess.  Why?”

“Well, I’ve been thinkin’, ain’t it about time we moved along a bit?  You know, started makin’ some plans or something?”

“Plans?  For what?”

“For what?!” exploded Raph, throwing up his arms.  “For going back to New York!  For gettin’ our lives back!”

Leo stared at his brother, and Raph stared back at him with an expression that plainly meant Leo had said something crazy.

“Uh, maybe.  Sure, I guess.”

Raphael relaxed and exhaled, sending foggy breath into the trees.  “Okay.  Then let’s go tell everyone.”

“What, right now?” asked Leo.  Raph gave him that look again.

“Come on, Fearless Leader!  Time to get the troops in gear!” he said exasperatedly.

“Listen, Raph,” said Leo slowly.  “I’ll get behind you if that’s what you want, but I’m not—,”

“You’ll ‘get behind me,’?  Leo, you been taking those pills of yours again?  C’mon, I’m serious, let’s go.”  And Raph turned and started on the trail back towards the farmhouse and warmth.

Leo stared at him, but didn’t make a move to follow.

Raph turned around, and when he saw Leonardo still standing in the same spot his eyes narrowed in anger.

“What is it, big brother?” he said coldly, mockingly.  “Too scared of a rematch with the Foot to try and get our own home back?”  One hand slipped under his coat, ready to draw a weapon.

For a moment, the old fire leapt into Leo’s eyes.  He took a half-step towards Raph and instinctively reached over his shoulder for a sword—but there was nothing there.  The weapons had been lost at some point during his skirmish with the enemy.  Leo took a deep breath, dropped his arms to his sides, and closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, the fire was gone.

“Do what you have to do, Raph.  You know where to find me.”  And he turned his back on his brother and proceeded to follow the trail the other way, towards cold and whiteness and nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Raph approached Donatello’s room later that day and knocked politely before stepping through the open door.  Don was practically obscured by multiple stacks of books at the table where he sat, his head bent low over a text as he muttered to himself.  He propped his forehead on his left fist, staring at something he had just written in a notebook, and then carefully erased part of it and swept the residue off the paper.  It was quite cold in the room, and the blanket that covered Donatello had slipped off his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Raphael waited for Don to acknowledge him for a minute, but as he wasn’t even sure his brother had heard him knock, he finally cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh, hey,” Don said, glancing up briefly.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Raph asked with feigned interest.  He walked over to the table and glimpsed what looked like a mess of arrows and hexagons drawn in the notebook his brother had open in front of him.  Don tapped his pencil distractedly as he flipped the book closed briefly so Raph could read the cover.  Organic Chemistry:  Principles and Applications.

“Looks . . . fascinating,” commented Raph with a look of disgust.  “You have an exam comin’ up or something?” he asked as Don attacked the notebook with his pencil again.

“Something like that,” replied Donny.  He looked back and forth between the textbook and his notes several more times, made some minor changes, and then unexpectedly flung his pencil across the table with grunt of frustration and leaned back in his chair.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Raph said uncomfortably, thinking he’d come back later.

“No, it’s not you,” said Don tiredly.  “I think I’ve been staring at benzene rings too long, that’s all.”  He yawned, then looked up at Raph.

“Did you need something?” Don asked.

“Uh, well, just a quick word.”

Don stared expectantly at him.  _At least I’ve got his full attention_ , Raph thought.

“I was out talking to Leo this morning,” he began, trying to sound nonchalant, “and we discussed the possibility of, you know, picking things up a bit so we could return to the city.”

“Oh yeah?  What did he think?” Don wanted to know.

“He said it didn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Really,” Don responded.  It wasn’t a question, and he was now looking at Raphael sharply.  “So it wasn’t his idea.”  Again, not a question.

_Shell_ , thought Raph, angry with himself for giving away the game so quickly.  He shifted guiltily.

“Does that really matter?” challenged Raph.

“Actually, yes,” answered Donatello.  “If you brought it up, and Leo wasn’t feeling quite ready, do you really think he’d admit it?”

“He said he was feelin’ fine.  Sure looked fit enough when he jumped out of a tree at me.”

“That’s good to hear, but it still doesn’t mean he’s ready, and I guess once he is he won’t waste any time letting us know.”  Don’s tone sounded final, and Raph knew that further debate would do no good.

“Yeah, right,” muttered Raph under his breath.  But Donatello didn’t hear him—he had already turned back to his books.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Raph’s next stop was the barn and Michelangelo.  _Third time’s a charm_ , he thought to himself, and squared his shoulders determinedly before entering.  Mike was in the open part of the training area, nunchakus merging into a blur as he whirled them expertly, picking up speed with each pass across his body.  As he deftly maneuvered the weapons, he body was also in constant motion—circling, dodging, and attacking imaginary opponents.  Once he even did a backflip as he lashed out with his ‘chucks, landing in a crouch and catching them under his arms.

As he watched just how formidable Mike was with his weapons, it occurred to Raph that if there was ever a time to keep his temper in check, this was it.  Still, he could see no benefit to postponing a discussion, so he decided to work with what he had.

Raph walked over and picked up a couple of crudely crafted target boards as well as two mitts to protect his hands from the impact.  Then he walked slowly in front of his brother, gloved hands holding the boards by handles on the back, and bowed.  Mike stood looking at him, then nodded his head once, intense focus manifest in every feature.

Raph took a firm stance, clapped the boards together once to show he was ready, then lifted them up.  _Thwack thwack!_   Mike’s ‘chucks hit the targets with enough force to pulverize bone, and Raphael made sure to keep a firm grip on the handles.  Raph then took half a step back and rapidly changed position, holding both hands up high then ducking down low as he challenged Mike to hit increasingly difficult targets.  The hits kept coming—Michelangelo rarely missed.  The exercise lasted about ten minutes, by which time both turtles were breathing hard and sweating freely.  It ended when Raphael jumped backwards out of nunchaku range, and clapped the boards together again to indicate he was done.

Raph bowed again to Mike, and this time he received a bow in return.  They didn’t speak, but Mike offered some water which Raphael gladly accepted.  As they rested, Raphael considered the side benefit of his spontaneous offer to join in the workout session—he had managed to work off a good deal of his own frustration and was now less likely to lose his temper.  He had merely intended to get on Michelangelo’s good side by first helping him out, but holding targets for nunchaku training required agility and quick reflexes if you wanted to avoid serious injury—especially when using actual combat weapons instead of the safer practice weapons that they generally used for such exercises.

Mike didn’t seem inclined to strike up conversation, but Raph knew that if he waited, his brother would probably start some other activity.  It was now or never.

“Nice work,” Raph commented.

“Yeah.  Thanks for jumping in there,” Mike returned.

“I been thinkin’. . . maybe it’s time we all started training again.  You know, together,” Raph said as a lead in.

“Maybe,” responded Mike noncommittally.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

Mike shrugged.  “Doesn’t really matter what I think.  I’m down here every day anyway.  What does Master Splinter think?”

_Good question_ , thought Raph.  Master Splinter hadn’t been much of an influence lately.

“I dunno, I just figured I’d run it by you first.”

“Well, I’ll go along with whatever everyone else thinks is best, I suppose,” Michelangelo concluded.

Raph just nodded.  It wasn’t the response he had hoped for, but it was par for the course.  He stood up to leave.

“Well, I’ll see you at the house,” said Raph.

“Sure, see ya later,” Mike replied as he began his cool down.

Raph made his way back to the house, and decided to seek Master Splinter’s help that very evening.  He didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with his brothers, and he knew it was always better to talk to his Sensei when he was in a calm state of mind.  Well, calm _er_ anyway.  But it was the best he could do right now.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

After he got back to the house, took a shower, and ate some dinner, Raphael knocked on Splinter’s door.

“Enter,” came his father’s voice from inside.

Raph looked around as he stepped into the room, wondering as he did so how the space could feel so unfamiliar and yet so comforting.  Splinter’s face softened imperceptibly when he saw his son, and he realized how little he had seen of any of them lately.

“Please sit down, my son.  It is good to see you.”

“Thank you, Master.  It’s good to see you, too,” Raph answered, and he approached and sat cross-legged in front of his sensei.

“What can I do for you, Raphael?” Splinter asked him.

Before answering, Raph made a mental effort to put himself in a calm and receptive state of mind, as his Sensei had always instructed him.

“Master Splinter, I been doing a lot of thinkin’ lately, and I believe it’s time for us to begin preparing for our return to New York,” he said, feeling it was best just to get right to the point.

“And your brothers?  Do they feel this way as well?”

“I . . . I think so—deep down,” Raph answered hesitantly.

The balloon of hope that Splinter had held inside from the moment Raphael entered his room began to deflate, but he did not show it.

“I am sorry, my son, but we cannot proceed until you are all in agreement as to what must be done.”

“But Master Splinter, I’ve tried talking to them, and all they wanna do is pass off all the decisions to someone else!  Way I see it, _I_ might as well be that someone else,” Raph reasoned.

“That is not good enough, Raphael.  Each of you must know, in your own hearts, what the next step should be.  Until then, we will remain here,” Splinter said.

Raph looked down, his thoughts whirling.

“And you are not to leave this place on your own,” Master Splinter commanded sternly, as if reading the turtle’s mind.  “Is that clear?”

Raphael tried to fight down the anger that was beginning to rise up, but he wasn’t completely successful.

“Well what’m I supposed to do then?!” he growled.  Raph had the presence of mind not to yell, but he couldn’t prevent frustration from coloring his words.  “I wanna get this over with and move on, but I’m stuck here until my idiot brothers decide it’s time to go?”

Raph only barely prevented himself from blurting out how unfair it was.  He already knew Master Splinter’s response to that one.

It took every ounce of willpower Splinter had to withhold the comfort and advice that Raphael sought.  But he felt the long term consequences of such assistance could be disastrous, so for now the teacher in him had to rule over the father.

“I can give no more counsel in this matter,” Splinter said firmly.

“What, that’s it?!  Unbelievable!” Raph fumed.  “I wonder what pearls of wisdom Leo would’ve gotten if he had come in here instead of me!”

“Raphael, that is enough,” Splinter said as he calmly looked his son in the eye.  “You may go now,” he added by way of dismissal.

Raph met his master’s gaze challengingly for an instant before looking away, but even that short glimpse was enough for Splinter to detect the embers lingering in the fiery turtle’s eyes.  And for once, Splinter was relieved to see that look—it meant Raphael was not through fighting.

* * *

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Raphael spent the next two days brooding under a cloak of fury and resentment.  His darker moods were as visible to those around him as the red mask he wore, and his brothers usually just avoided him until it passed.  Under the present conditions, however, there was really no need as they were rarely together anyway.

At first he could not think past the anger he felt—towards Master Splinter for refusing to help him, and towards his brothers for not listening to him.  Any attempt at lucid thought just ended up as a whirlpool in Raph’s mind, raging in circles.  But gradually the torrent in his head slowed to a river, and then a stream so that he was able to make sense of his thoughts as they flowed by.  And they kept coming back to one thing—if Leo had been the one to suggest it was time to move forward, his brothers would have accepted the decision instantly.  Moreover, Raph felt intuitively that the reason was not just Leonardo’s established role as leader, but something more to do with his brother’s intrinsic character that made others want to trust him and follow him.

So, Raphael once again played the “What Would Leo Do” game.  The problem was, he felt sure that Leo would have gone to talk with everyone, just as he had; only the outcome would have been different.  Raph didn’t know what to do anymore.  _Okay, so what would Leo do if he didn’t know what to do?_

“Huh, he’d probably go meditate,” Raph answered himself wryly.  Then his eyes went wide as he realized the truth of what he had just said.  Of course!  That’s exactly what Leo would do—meditate.  Exultation coursed through him briefly at this breakthrough, but the feeling ended abruptly as Raph realized what the next step entailed. 

“It had to be meditation,” he said glumly to himself.  “I _suck_ at meditating.”

It may not have been Raph’s strongest area, but once he made up his mind to try he didn’t waste any time about it.  He closed himself in his room, lit some candles, and sat trying to empty his mind of all extraneous thought while concentrating on what he wanted to know.  Hours passed, and though Raphael kept at it longer than he ever had of his own free will before, nothing happened.  Something wasn’t right; he just couldn’t concentrate properly where he was.  He decided the only way he could get rid of all distraction was to physically distance himself from it.

Shortly after daybreak the next morning, April found Raphael in the kitchen loading some food into a pack.

“Good morning,” she said as she eyed him curiously.  “Going somewhere?”

“Morning.  Yeah, I’m gonna take a little camping trip, try and clear my head,” answered Raph.

“It’s sloppy out there,” she said, looking out the window.  There had been a warming trend the last few days which had caused most of the snow to melt, and although it was still winter, it served as a reminder that spring was drawing nearer.

“Looks it,” he said in agreement as he continued packing. When he was through, he double checked that he had everything he needed, and proceeded to dress to go outside.  When he was finally ready, he looked up to find April watching him.

“See ya in a couple days, April,” he said.

“Okay.  And be careful; even though it’s not too cold right now, the weather up here can turn quickly,” she warned him.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping out the door.  As he was walking away, April suddenly called again from the doorway.

“Hey Raph!”

He turned and waited.

“Good luck,” she said as she met his eyes.  He nodded and gave her a tight smile before setting off.

Raph didn’t have a particular destination in mind—he just chose an arbitrary direction away from the road and kept a leisurely but steady pace.  The fresh air and exercise helped clear his mind, and he thought about many things as he walked.  After midday Raph reached a small clearing on a ridge, and something about it just felt right.  The entire forest was damp and still sopping so he decided not to bother with a fire, but fortunately it wasn’t too cold and there was no wind to speak of.  He spread a rain poncho on the ground as a dry place to sit, and took a break to eat something before once again setting his mind to the task at hand.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go any better than they had the previous day.  Raph persisted in trying to clear his mind, and tried not to get discouraged when he was unsuccessful, but long after dark he decided to call it a day and try and get some sleep.  His legs were stiff from sitting, and it had grown slightly colder with nightfall.  After eating more cold food, he crawled under the tarp he had set up as quick shelter and zipped his sleeping bag up snugly around him.

By morning he was loathe to leave his warm bed, but he decided to just get it over with and took a brisk jog to get his blood moving.  When Raphael returned to his spot, he tried to warm up his mind by imagining his breakfast was a donut and hot coffee instead of a granola bar and cold water.  By the time he had finished eating he had reached the conclusion that even Master Splinter would have had trouble with that one.

Raph tried once again to make himself comfortable, then closed his eyes and began to concentrate.  It was another overcast day, and the woods were quiet except for the sounds of dripping and the occasional call of a bird or snap of a tree branch.  The constant dripping gradually became incorporated into the turtle’s flow of thought, almost the way outside noises sometimes come through in dreams, and it was somewhat soothing.  The thoughts themselves, though, were not.  Try as he might, he could not push them down; the harder he tried, the quicker they resurfaced.  Finally, he gave up trying to push them down and took a deep breath, exhaled slowly while relaxing his muscles, and let his mind go.

The thoughts became like darts ripping through Raphael’s mind:  anger, confusion, doubt, fear—endless as the dripping of the forest.  He tried to dodge them, but each one pierced him and he was forced to acknowledge them all.  He could no longer hear outside sounds—nothing was real except the pain of what he was facing.  He saw his own deepest insecurities, and the weight of all of the darts sticking in him all at once began to overwhelm him, bury him, until he was suffocating under their weight.  He couldn’t handle all of that weight on his own, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t . . .

_Help!!!_ his mind screamed.

In a flash a new connection was forged in his brain, and the resulting experience left him shaking and drenched in ice cold sweat.  Raph leaned forward, placing both hands on the ground and sucked in air as he sought to regain control of himself.  He had no idea how much time had passed, but his teeth were chattering so loudly that it took him a while before he realized he could hear regular forest sounds again. 

Finally he stood up shakily and began repacking his things, throwing them haphazardly in his pack.  Jaw clenched, he wasted no time in heading back to the farm.  He could not explain what had just happened, but he now knew what he had to do.  He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It was late afternoon by the time he got close to the house, and this time of year that meant that darkness would soon follow.  Raph dropped his muddy pack by the front door before going inside.

“Hey April,” Raph called when he spied her in the kitchen.  “Leo been in yet?”

“Raph, you’re back!  No, I haven’t seen him yet.  How’d your trip—,” she started.  But Raphael was already out the door again.

Raph took a seat on the edge of the porch, twirling a sai and scowling with impatience as he scanned the grounds for Leo.  He knew it would be a waste of time to go out looking for his brother in blue, but Raph was bursting with the need to get started now that he knew what he had to do.  After what seemed like an eternity but was actually twenty minutes or so, he caught sight of Leo emerging from the forest edge.  He vaulted off the porch and sprinted down, unwilling to wait for Leo to reach the house.

“Raph, is everything okay?  What’s going on?” Leo demanded once Raphael skidded to a halt in front of him.

“Everything’s fine,” Raph managed as he tried to catch his breath.  “I just needed to ask you something.”

“Well, what is it?” Leo searched his brother’s eyes.

“I gotta show you something, but it means takin’ a little trip.”

Leo’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “A trip?  Where to?”

“Just a short camping expedition to a nearby ridge.”

“I guess I can do that, sure,” said Leo.  He could tell this was important to Raph, but he didn’t have a clue why.

“Good,” said Raph.  Then he took a deep breath, looked Leonardo in the eye and said, “I also need your help to convince Don and Mike to come with us.”

“I dunno, Raph,” Leo said looking down.  “I’ll go, but . . .” he didn’t finish the statement, nor did he meet his brother’s eyes.  He didn’t need to.  He could feel Raph’s disappointment.

Raph sighed.  “Never mind.  We’ll leave first thing in the morning and plan to stay out overnight.”  Then he began jogging back up towards the house, leaving Leo to follow at his own pace.

It hadn’t gone exactly the way he had hoped, Raph reflected, but at least he’d gotten Leo to agree to come—he’d just have to find some way to convince the others on his own.

As Leo watched Raph run back uphill, he couldn’t help but feel he had let his brother down.  He made his way back alone, and when got home he decided to head directly for the shower.  As he reached the top of the stairs Leo could hear voices coming from Donatello’s room, and he paused to listen.

“I don’t know Raph,” Don was saying.  “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough here.  Why can’t you just tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s just something you need to see for yourself, Bro.  I can’t explain it,” came Raphael’s voice.

 “Well then can’t it wait a couple of days?”

Leo quietly stepped closer to the bedroom.  He could hear a note of desperation in Raph’s voice, and in that moment he knew it was time for him to put his faith in someone else. 

“C’mon, Donny,” Leo spoke from just behind Raph’s left shoulder.  “It’s just for one night.  We’ll all go.”

Raph’s head snapped around in surprise, and Don’s head came up from his book.

Leo ignored Raphael’s look and stared expectantly at Donatello while he waited for his answer.  Raph, once he had gotten over his initial shock, followed his older brother’s lead and looked at Don as well.

Don finally gave a sigh of resignation.  “Looks like I’m overruled.  All right, I’ll go.”

“Yes!” hissed Raphael as he pulled in his fist in triumph.

“When do we leave?” asked Don.

“First thing tomorrow,” Raph answered.

“Okay.  I’ll be ready.”

Leo and Raph stepped out of the room.

“Thanks for backin’ me up in there,” Raphael said appreciatively as they went down the stairs.

“Anytime,” replied Leo sincerely.

“Alright, then let’s go get Mike.”

“Lead the way,” Leo said, and he gestured for Raph to go in front of him.

They headed over to the barn and met Michelangelo already on his way back to the house.  When he heard that everyone else had decided to go, he readily agreed to accompany them.

Morning found all four turtles, lead by Raph, hiking briskly into the forest.    No new snow yet covered the ground, but the sky was still leaden and the temperature had dropped low enough overnight to freeze the ground hard once again.  Raph had no idea how to get back to the place he had been last time; all he intended to do was get his brothers far enough away that they wouldn’t be tempted to return home before they were finished.  After a solid half-day’s march, Raph spied a patch of level open ground just uphill from a small creek and lead everyone to it.

“Are we close?” Don asked.

“Yeah, we’re close.  I figured we could stop here and have a bite to eat,” answered Raph.

They all sat down on a large fallen log and began eating in silence.  It felt weird, all of them sitting there together and not talking.  It was like they had forgotten how to be around one another, how to interact.  Strangers.

Mike was the first one to stand up, and he stretched as he said, “Okay, so where is this thing you wanted us to see?”  They all looked at Raph.

Raph knew that this was going to be a tough sell, and he took a drink of water to stall for a moment as he thought about how to answer.

“Okay guys, first of all, remember I wouldn’t have dragged you out here if this wasn’t important.  Second of all, you gotta trust me.”

They all looked perplexed, and Leo said, “Okay, just show us.”

“What I want to show you—you ain’t exactly gonna be able to see it with your eyes.”

“Come again?” said Don.

“What the shell are you talking about?” asked Mike.

“I came up here yesterday to, um . . . do some thinking, and I . . . learned something.”

Don was shaking his head.  “You’re not making any sense, Raph.  What exactly are you getting at?”

But Leo was looking at his brother sharply.  “You were meditating,” he stated quietly, and he was impressed in spite of himself.

Mike gave a short laugh, and then looked from Leo’s face to Raph’s and back again, unable to believe at first that they were serious.

“You were _what_?!” exclaimed Donatello in disbelief.

“I was meditating,” Raphael confirmed.  “At least, that’s what I came out here to do, but I ain’t exactly sure if that’s what happened,” he admitted.  Looking around, Raph could tell the others were still trying to understand what he was telling them.  He couldn’t blame them for being confused—he couldn’t make sense of it himself.

“But whatever it was,” Raphael continued, “we need to try and get it to happen again—all of us, here, together.  I don’t know if it’s possible, but I know we gotta try.”

“So, you brought us all the way out here so we could practice meditating in the cold?” inferred Don.  “Why couldn’t we have just stayed at the house?”

“You kiddin’ Donny?  How else could I keep you away from those books of yours long enough to give this a shot?”

Don had no answer to this.

“So this whole thing was just a trick to get us to come out here,” said Mike as he sat down again and began poking at the ground with a stick.  He didn’t sound angry, Raph realized.  If anything, Mike sounded slightly disappointed.

“Listen, guys, it’s me—Raph!  How desperate do you think I had to be to even come up here in the first place?  You all know how fond I am of meditating!” he said sarcastically.  Then Raphael leaned forward in his seat on the log and propped his elbows against his knees.  He stared down at his clasped hands.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” he continued more quietly, “but after what I learned up here that day, I’d knock you all out, tie you up, and carry you here one by one if I had to.”  At this point he looked up them, eyes blazing, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he meant it.

“Things ain’t been right for a while now, an’ you know it.  I don’t know if this is gonna work,” Raph said, studying his hands again, “but it’s the best chance we got.”

Everyone was quiet again for several minutes; then Leo spoke up.  “We’re already up here.  Might as well give it a shot,” he said.

Another minute’s silence and Mike simply said, “I’m in.”

Don looked at Raph and said, “Tell us what to do.”

 

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

Raph arranged them so they were all sitting in a circle on the ground with their knees practically touching.  “Okay, you all know the drill,” he said.  “Everyone just try and meditate the way Master Splinter taught us.  But there’s two things you gotta keep in mind:  number one—don’t try and fight where your mind wants to take you.  Number two—don’t forget we’re all here together.”  He looked at each of them in turn to make sure they understood, and then they all closed their eyes and began to concentrate.

They sat that way for a long time, hardly moving and never speaking.  Occasionally one of them shifted positions or scratched an itch, but that was it.  Raph had hoped that since he had already been through this, he could somehow guide the others, but it proved to be more difficult than it sounded.  He kept trying to push his mind in the direction it had taken last time when he had felt himself reach out, but it wasn’t working.

Eventually Raph became aware of Don’s leg shivering against his on the left, and he opened his eyes to see that the light had grown dimmer and the air colder.  As soon as he ceased concentrating, he also realized that he was getting hungry.

“I think it’s time for a break, guys,” Raph declared, stretching.  On his right, Leo rose stiffly and offered to build a fire.  The others began gathering wood while Leo got his fire kit out of his pack, and in a surprisingly short time (thanks to Leo’s practice over the last month) they had a small but strong flame going.  Once there was a good bed of coals, they combined several cans of soup into one pot and propped it over the hottest part of the glowing embers.  They all stood around the fire, knowing that soon enough they would be sitting again.

By the time food was ready, it was completely dark out and everyone was starved.  Don dished out the soup, and in what seemed like no time at all they were finished with dinner and once again seated in a circle.  This time the ring was bigger so that they could encompass the fire in the middle.  Everyone was slightly discouraged already due to their lack of success earlier, but at least they were warm now.

As time dragged on, Raphael became desperate for something, anything to happen.  He knew such thoughts were not helping his focus, so he took a break and opened his eyes.  He observed each of his brothers in the firelight.  Leonardo, on his right, looked relaxed and had his head tilted slightly upward.  Michelangelo, in contrast, had his eyes scrunched tight in concentration.  Donny had his elbows resting on his knees and his head down, and as Raph watched him the studious turtle let out a long, slow breath. 

Raph knew they were all trying, so why wasn’t anything happening?  Maybe it was just a fluke—maybe he should try and explain what he had seen and felt.  But he didn’t think that would be good enough.  He closed his eyes again, and kept trying to focus his mind.  _Just let go_ , he mentally told his brothers.  _Don’t fight it, just let go._   He let the thought repeat rhythmically in his head, like waves lapping at the shore, in and out with his breathing.  He felt his body relax, and then he ceased to be aware of his body altogether.

The waves, so soothing at first, began to grow stronger, and he had to brace himself harder to stay upright.  With each successive surge, Raph was reliving some the fear and anxiety and guilt that had plagued him, and the waves did not stop but crashed against him endlessly.  _Crash_ —there was Leo lying in a pool of blood.  _Crash_ —he was losing his temper again.  _Crash_ —he had failed, failed to keep his family intact.  The waves of thought pummeled him until he couldn’t stand against them any more, and he was being pulled out into cold depths . . .

And then he remembered his brothers.  In his mind he screamed their names, over and over, reaching for them as hard as he could.  _Leo!  Don!  Mike!_ And he heard their agonized voices calling back, screaming for him in return.  Raph focused all of his energy into a single point in his mind and sent it out to his brothers like a lifeline . . . and finally, there it was—the blazing heat he had felt before, tracing out sizzling pathways through each of their minds and linking them in their torment. 

Through the white-hot cord that bound them, the brothers relived their trials—together.

They all felt Raphael’s unquenchable rage as he battled the Foot after Leonardo’s fall, rage that only intensified as his hands grew slick and hot with enemy blood.  They knew his guilt as he sat on the roof of the farmhouse keeping watch—he should have gone to look for Leo sooner.  No matter who tried to stop him, he should have gone.  He should have saved him . . . 

They saw Leonardo through Raph’s eyes as he barely held on to life, and heard Raph’s tearful promise to him.  But most of all, they struggled with him as he fought again and again to keep the family from falling apart.

They were with Michelangelo as he looked on helplessly from the shadows while his brother was being consumed by the furnace that was his body, wishing only for the knowledge of how he could help.  Shattered by the realization that even the most seemingly steadfast forces in his life were vulnerable, Mike was forced to reconstruct the tapestry of his world with this undeniable truth woven into it.  They felt his resolve the night when he finally recognized what he had to do—he had to grow up.

Then came Michelangelo’s transformation from a carefree jokester to a hardened and disciplined athlete.  He put away childish things, and for the first time in his life he was learning what it meant to be focused, to be dedicated, to be ready.  Next time, the enemy would not find it so easy to catch one of them alone and hurt them—the _baby_ brother would make sure of that.

Donatello was the Solver of Problems, the Answer Man, the Go-to Guy.  It was a full time job, and not always an easy one—especially when you didn’t always _have_ the answers.  As they shared in Don’s experiences, the rest of the brothers understood as they never had before the burden that their gifted brother carried.  Everyone relied on him to get them out of any and all tight situations they found themselves in, never doubting his ability to do so, and for the most part blissfully unaware of how easily things could have gone the other way.

So great was his brothers’ faith in him that Don held himself solely responsible when his ideas didn’t work—and even more so when he simply didn’t have any.  Such was the case when they were trying to fight off their attackers at April’s apartment, again when he was unable to prevent her building from burning to the ground, and finally when his older brother was clinging so tenuously to life.  It was a real testament to Donatello’s character that, until they felt these things through their brother, the others were completely unaware of his extreme tendency to take the blame upon himself. 

They had previously only known Donny as the one who always stepped up, who didn’t argue and seldom complained; the one who never seemed at a loss and always kept a level head when they asked him for his help.  But now they could also see Don as he was beneath the stalwart persona he projected—sensitive, unsure . . . terrified.  He had understood as the others could not exactly how close Leo had been to death, and they felt now through every beat of his heart how much it had cost him to keep the knowledge from crushing him.

Donatello’s recent obsession with studying was an attempt to reduce future instances in which he didn’t have any answers.  He loved learning in general, but what really thrilled him was tinkering and inventing and building.  However, ever since their battle, he had felt that indulging in those activities should only come after he had taken steps towards obtaining as much knowledge as possible in a wide variety of subjects.  If even one thing that he learned could help them through some future predicament, he felt it would be worth it.

But none of these revelations were as shocking as what they learned through Leo’s ordeal.  The brothers saw only fragments of the savage battle, but even that was almost too much.  They were with Leonardo as he ran, leaping from building to building, until he couldn’t run anymore, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and still the enemy closed in so that he was forced to make a stand.  He defeated them easily at first, even exhibiting restraint so as not to cause unnecessary injury, but all thoughts of sparing them ceased as they caught up with him again and again, their numbers never dwindling.  Eventually he was fighting just to survive, dispatching an opponent with every slash of his glistening blades, not a single movement wasted.  And still they came on, weighting him down with sheer numbers.

Leo knew that fatigue would make him sloppy, so he refused to acknowledge it—he focused on each battle like it was the only one, but in the back of his head he knew he couldn’t keep it up forever.  Every muscle was crying out with the strain, blood from a dozen wounds mingled with sweat and rain ran off of his body.  The very air felt like sand as he gulped it in, abrading his lungs with every breath.  Yet each time he felt he couldn’t go on, he found some ribbon of strength coiled up inside his body, and he drew on it to run, or fight, or jump—knowing that to do nothing was to be finished.

Drawing close to April’s apartment, Leo was forced to stop yet again as more Foot soldiers appeared ahead of him.  Lightening tore through a sky swollen with bruised clouds, and in the flicker of light he saw more Foot closing in from the sides, and behind them on distant rooftops even more were ready to take the places of their brethren should they fall. 

Leonardo was on his knees, both hands on the ground in front of him still gripping his swords, muscles trembling violently with weariness as he fought for breath.  He reached for strength again, and panicked when it slipped away like silk.  But there!  He had it!  Only it wasn’t going to be enough.  Leo knew he was almost out of reserves, and the truth came hurling at him much like the bolt of lighting that lit the sky—he could not win against such numbers.  And his brothers felt his exhaustion, his pain, and his defeat.

Then abruptly they were with Leo as he lay recovering at the farm.  The heaviness, the weakness, the pain he felt was as real to his brothers as if it were their own.  Only the relief the leader felt at knowing his family was safe made it possible to bear.  Until the dreams started.  They reminded Leo of his failure, and he was racked with guilt and self doubt as a result.  That Leonardo had felt guilty was not really a revelation to the others—it was just Leo’s way.  But what left them cold was the realization that his guilt was not a result of failing to _defeat_ the Foot, but rather his failure to prevent the enemy from finding his family at April’s place.

His brothers learned that, in the moment Leonardo realized he could not win on his own, he saw his choices laid bare before him like branches stripped of their leaves—he could use his remaining strength to try and get to April’s where he might find reinforcements, or he could attack here and now with everything he had even though he had no chance of survival.  He calculated the cold equations in his head, and then rose and turned deliberately away from April’s building to face the hordes before him.  He would fight to the end, but he would not risk leading the Foot and their endless numbers to his family. 

Once his choice was made, he used all the righteous anger he had in him to summon that last ribbon of strength, and threw himself into the fray with his teeth bared and his swords awash in crimson.

Leonardo did not know until much later that his intended sacrifice had been in vain—at that time in the battle they were already so close to April’s shop that the Foot were able to find the place on their own before too long.  Leo realized post hoc that his true error had been made much earlier on by underestimating the strength of the attack initiated against him.  Had he thought it through, had he done his job as leader, he would never have begun looping back towards the apartment unless he was sure he wasn’t being pursued.  He had failed to consider the safety of his family first, and as a consequence he had almost gotten them killed.

_Snnaaap!_   The link was severed as suddenly is it had been formed.

 

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

The bond had been holding the four turtles so tight that the sudden release made them feel like they were being thrown backwards onto the forest floor.  With a jolt the brothers felt their physical senses coming back to them, and it was strange—like being in their own bodies for the first time.

None of them could move at first, and they just stayed where they were, unable to reconcile what they had just been through with where the found themselves now.  Each was still inside his own head, until the shock of the experience moved from their minds to their bodies and they were left sweating, shaking, and utterly annihilated.  Michelangelo was the first to recover and, with a strangled sob, he launched himself unsteadily over the spent fire and tackled Raphael into a desperate embrace.  Donatello, tears tracing wet tracks down his face, was only a moment behind him.  Leonardo was still trying to find his bearings when he felt himself being seized roughly by several pairs of hands and was drawn into a four-turtle hug.

Then they just stayed that way, holding each other tightly, for a long time.  Mike wept unashamedly, though no ones eyes were completely dry.  They took comfort in each others warm, living bodies; freshly aware of how precious and delicate life was.  After a time the tangle of turtles loosened slightly, and they sat up in a circle.  Each of the brothers, without having to speak, instinctively leaned forward until their bowed heads touched in the center of the circle, and wrapped their arms about each others shoulders.  It was a familiar ritual, and one that they had not used since they were children.  As youngsters, whenever any of them was scared, they would take on this formation—it was their way of blocking out the outside world as they drew strength from one another.

Unmeasured time passed in this way, and still nobody spoke—it was still too raw, too near.  After what they had been through together it seemed somehow wrong when they finally separated.  Leonardo eased up wordlessly, put more wood on the fire, and began heating water for tea.  When he returned with four steaming cups he also passed around a bag of trail mix.  Grateful for the refreshments, everyone ate and drank in silence, but not before Raph got up and retrieved a small flask from his pack. 

“Compliments of Casey,” he said simply as he poured a measure of the liquid into each cup.  “After I came up here before, I thought we might need it.”

Even Leo, who normally disapproved of liquor, did not protest.  The whiskey and food soon revived them a little and took the edge off their exposed emotions, and it was Michelangelo who was first to speak what was on his mind.

“How could you do that to us, Leo?” he asked softly.  No one needed to ask what he was referring to.

“I had no choice,” Leo answered, looking down at his tea.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” said Mike in a tight voice, and everyone looked up at him in shock.  Michelango rarely swore.  He was staring accusingly at Leonardo, blue eyes glaring fiercely but shining with unspilled tears.

“We all saw your choices,” he said in the same husky tone as he gestured to Raph and Don.  “How could you just decide that, decide to throw your life away without asking yourself how it would make _us_ feel?”

“It wasn’t throwing my life away if it meant saving yours,” Leo answered coolly, including everyone in his level gaze.

“Would you want us to do the same for you?” Mike asked.

Leo normally would not have answered this question, but on this night all of their souls had been laid bare, their emotions left completely unguarded.  He couldn’t hide anything from his brothers right now, nor could he lie to them.  It would have been nothing less than betrayal.

“No,” he said in a barely audible whisper, “I wouldn’t.”

“So then you’re allowed to protect us, but we’re not allowed to protect you?” chimed in Don.

Leonardo responded, “It’s just that, I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t live with myself if . . . if something happened to any of you and I could have prevented it.”

“And if one of us was in trouble,” continued Mikey, “wouldn’t you want to be given the chance, the _choice_ , to do whatever you could to help?”

“Yes,” Leonardo choked out, looking at his cup again as he felt his throat begin to burn with emotion.

“You took that choice away from us, Leo,” Mike said.  His voice was completely controlled, eyes still glaring, but tears had begun to leak down his face.

“And . . . you all feel that way?” Leo asked, looking up at them.  He received nods of assent as three pairs of eyes looked hotly at him, daring him to contradict them.  Leo was overcome with emotion, and his tears fell freely and mixed with his tea.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  Then he felt a hand on his right shoulder.

“It’s okay,” said Mikey seriously, “just don’t let it happen again,” he finished in a mock stern voice.

Leo couldn’t help it—he laughed through his tears as he added, “Just please don’t ground me, little brother—I couldn’t live if you took my new comic books away!”  Then he thumped Michelangelo affectionately on the shell as the others laughed with them.

The laughter went a long way towards lightening the mood, and after that talking became easier.  They discussed many things, mostly having to do with the insights they had gained from viewing each other’s different experiences.  Actions and behaviors that had seemed confusing or unexpected in the last couple of months now seemed absurdly obvious when the reasons for them were known.  They tried to reassure one another of their fears and self doubts, but one thing they did not do was make light of them.  They knew that no matter how unfounded such doubts may seem to someone else, they were only too real in your own heart.

“Do you think,” said Don after a lull in conversation, “that if we had just talked about some of these things in the first place that we wouldn’t have had to go through all this?”

They all sat quietly as they pondered this.

“Possibly,” said Leo eventually, “but you can’t really look at it that way.  Maybe we needed to struggle.  Maybe it’s just the cost of the things we’ve gained.”

“Yeah—like I never knew Mike had it in him to stand up for himself like that,” commented Raph.

“And I never knew you had it in you to try and be _nice_ ,” said Mike.  “It must have been _really_ painful—I’m surprised you survived it.”

“Don’t look for a repeat anytime soon, I think he used it all up on me,” said Leo, thinking of the mask he wore.

“I know what _I_ learned,” said Donatello thoughtfully.

“Donny, we’d freeze to death out here listening to all the things you learned from even one a them books you got!” Raph broke in.

“No, that’s not what I mean.  I mean, I spent weeks holed up in my room, absolutely poring over books, and the whole time the knowledge I should have been seeking was all around me.  I guess I tend to get lost in my own head or my books or my projects when, sometimes, what I really need to do is reach outwards.”

“It’s okay, Bro, we’re used to it,” responded Raph.  “We don’t get it, but then we don’t get Mike’s nitwit obsession with comics, or Leo’s masochistic desire to practice 24-7.  It’s just who you are.  Every family’s gotta have someone to play ‘the nerdy one.’”

“For your information, I play ‘the smart one,’” asserted Don in a haughty voice. 

“And I’m ‘the good-looking one!’” declared Mikey jovially.

“More like the comic relief,” scoffed Raphael.

“Still better than your role as ‘the angry troll,’” Mike shot back.

Michelangelo prepared to dodge a blow from his hot-tempered brother, but to his surprise Raph just stared at him for a moment with an odd look on his face and then laughed.  He laughed so hard that the others started to become concerned.

“I think you broke him, Mike,” said Don, looking bemused.

Raph, wiping tears from his eyes, just leaned across and put his younger brother in a rough headlock as he gave him an affectionate noogie.

“It’s good to have you back, Mikey!” Raph said, grinning.  Don laughed then, too.

“Anyone have a camera?” Mike’s voice came out somewhat muffled as Raph still had hold of his head.  “I think we need to document this—Raph actually looks happy.”

“No need,” said Raph, releasing him.  “I usually look happy when I _hit_ you, too.”

“He’s got you there, Mikey,” said Leo, smiling. 

After the laughter had died down some, Leo spoke again.

“I think you learned a little more than just how to stand up for yourself, Little Brother.”

“Like what, Big Brother?” said Mikey leadingly.

“Like, you don’t need to change your name or stop having fun to be taken seriously.  All you need to do is take _yourself_ seriously.”

“Or just kick some _serious_ shell,” Don added with a grin as he elbowed Mike.

Raph groaned dramatically, but Mike looked pleased.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Mike asked, “Leo, what did you learn?”

Leo thought for a minute.  “I guess . . . I guess I learned how to follow.”

“But following’s the easy part,” said Don, looking perplexed.

“Easier for some than others,” grumbled Raphael, and Mike laughed.

Leo shook his head, searching for a way to explain more fully.  “I don’t mean the actual act of following.  Well, I do, but that’s not _only_ what I mean.”  He paused again, familiar lines creasing his brow.

“When I first woke up after we came up here, I was helpless.  And I _hated_ feeling that way.  Having to be fed and bathed, every little thing.  It’s not that I didn’t appreciate what everyone was doing for me, it’s just that I didn’t have a choice in the matter.  And that’s the difference.”

“Uh, I think I speak for all of us when I say, ‘huh?’” said Raph.

“The difference is that being a true follower requires surrender.  It’s not just about going through the movements—following means actively giving your trust and faith and loyalty.”  _And sometimes it means shedding the burden of responsibility_ , he thought.

“I never thought of it that way,” said Mike seriously.

Don said, “What really blows my mind is that you actually had to puzzle over how to follow—leading is so natural for you.”

“I guess most leaders would have a hard time following,” Raph noted offhandedly.

“I think you’re right, Raph” Leo said.  And although his tone was casual, Raphael detected more to his statement than the words alone indicated.

“Your turn, Raph,” prompted Don.  “What did you get out of all this?”

Raph scratched his head absently as he reviewed all that had happened over the past two months, but trying to condense everything he had learned into one succinct statement was difficult.

“I learned . . . it ain’t as easy as I thought bein’ Leo.”

Mikey snickered.  “And you didn’t even have a ‘Raph’ around!”

But for once, Raph was trying to be serious.

“I figured it was my job to make sure everyone was doin’ okay, only it turns out I ain’t so good at it.  I’d lose my patience or my temper or both, and things never turned out the way I planned ‘em in my head,” he admitted.

“But you got us up here, Raph,” said Leo, looking piercingly at him.  “You followed your gut, went out on a limb, brought us here—and it worked.  Without you, we’d still be lost.”  He paused.  “That’s the kind of leader I’d follow any day,” he said with conviction.

“You kiddin’ me?!” Raph broke in before anyone else could agree with Leo.  “I only got this far by askin’ myself every step of the way ‘What would Leo do’!  You think I woulda come up with this _meditating_ crap on my own?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Leo said dismissively.  “It doesn’t matter how you did it, any of it—what matters is the end result.  I struggled with that stuff all the time; it’s normal.”

Raph did not like his brother’s use of past tense.

“You’re wrong,” he said flatly.

Mike and Don were speechless as they followed this exchange back and forth between red and blue.

“I don’t think so,” said Leo.  “Maybe you have a hard time controlling your temper, but you came through for me, and what you said was exactly what I needed to hear at the time.”

“This is weird,” Mikey whispered aside to Don.

“I know—it’s like they’re having an _anti_ -power struggle,” replied Donatello quietly.

“That’s a first,” Mike muttered.

Raph was shaking his head.  “You ain’t hearin’ me, Bro.  I know what you’re trying to say, but you’re wrong.  I don’t got what it takes.  I know I managed through sheer luck to do some good,” he continued before Leo could interrupt, “but it was way too much of a struggle—it just don’t come naturally to me.”

“You think it was always easy for me?!” challenged Leo, unable to keep quiet.  “You think one day I just said to myself, ‘Hey, I know, wouldn’t it be fun to take responsibility for all of my brothers all the time, no matter if I’m not always up to it, no matter if they don’t want to listen to me, no matter if I end up getting them killed’?”

“I didn’t say you were leader cuz you chose to be,” said Raph, uncommon compassion visible in his dark eyes.  “You’re leader because others naturally follow you, and cuz you never have to remind yourself to put your family first.”

Raph pinned Leo with his eyes, and Leo did not argue this time but looked right back at him.

“You know I’m right,” said Raph earnestly.  “Why do you think I needed your help to convince these bozos to come out here?  Why do you think, instead of tryin’ to save your own shell like any of us woulda done, you decided it was a better idea to serve yourself up as a snack to a whole horde of Foot soldiers?”

He let these questions hang in the air for a moment before unlocking Leo from his gaze.  _Let him chew on that_ , Raph thought, and was wise enough to leave it there for the time being.

Don decided it was time for another subject shift.

“Raph, I’ve been wondering—is this what you expected would happen?  I mean, did the same thing happen to you when you came out here by yourself?”

“I didn’t really know what to expect, but it was kinda similar.”

“But not the same?” probed Don.

“Not exactly . . .” said Raph, and he shifted rather uncomfortably.

“Well what was it?” Mike asked, his curiosity piqued.

Raph cleared his throat.  “It was, um . . . well, I guess that night I was out here, Master Splinter must’ve been meditating too.”

“You mean . . .” began Don, putting it together.

“We linked,” affirmed Raphael.

“So you both . . .?”

“I wasn’t positive at the time, but we must’ve shared experiences the same way all of us did tonight,” Raph said. 

“And that’s why you were so desperate to get us all out here,” Leo said, more to himself than anyone else.

They all quietly absorbed this news, wondering what it was Raph could have seen in their father’s heart.  Raphael knew his brothers wouldn’t ask, and it was the only thing he would have felt justified in withholding.  But upon reflection, he decided that it was probably important for them to know—and he didn’t think that Master Splinter would mind.

“I saw us,” Raph said, suddenly breaking the silence.  His brothers did not react, but they listened intently.

“We were drifting apart, drifting away from Master Splinter, but what I felt, it was more like . . . it was more like we were being _torn_ away.  Painfully. And then, we started to struggle to reach each other, all of us, but it was like tryin’ to swim through glue, and the whole time there was this . . . this stretching feeling, like something was gonna break.”

He stopped, but the others kept silent and waited to see if he would continue.

“All of us started yelling for Master Splinter, but he refused to help us.  He wanted to, he was being torn apart as we stretched farther away, but he wouldn’t.”  Raph paused again.  Then he said, “He meant for us to do it on our own.”

After a time, they realized Raphael was done talking, but no one commented.  They were simply thankful they hadn’t let their Sensei down.

Then the subject shifted again, and the conversation became lighter in tone as the heavy subjects were talked out and cast behind them.  Eventually the flow of talk lead to reminiscing  and a great deal of joking as they recalled old battles, blunders, and exploits they had been through.

At one point Raph said, “Hey, remember that time Master Splinter came up with an exercise for us and told us whoever completed it would get a reward?”

“Oh yeah!” replied Michelangelo.  “That was before we even met April.”

“Is that the one where we were supposed to retrieve an object out of that safe?” asked Don.

“Yeah, only the safe was hangin’ from the ceiling by a bungee cord,” said Raph.  “Remember, Leo?" 

“Sure I remember.  I watched you guys try to figure out how to get in that safe for days.  All any of you could think about was getting that reward for yourselves.”

“Would have been easy if Master Splinter hadn’t forbidden from breaking the object, the safe, or the cord holding it,” Raph grumbled.

“I think that would have defeated the purpose of the exercise,” Don said.  “After all, I knew I could break into the safe, but I couldn’t reach it.”

Mikey chimed it, “I was pretty sure I could get to the safe somehow, but I wouldn’t have been able to get inside.”

“And of course it had to be Leo who figured it out . . .” Raph continued.

 

* * *

 

 

They all remembered how everyone but Leo had been arguing about it in the common room late one night, saying it was an impossible task.  Mikey, noticing Leo reading a book on the couch, had asked him why he hadn’t been trying to solve the puzzle.

“I’ve already figured it out,” answered Leo without looking up from his reading.

“Like shell!” challenged Raph.  “If that’s true, then how come you haven’t gotten the object?

“I can’t,” he replied simply, still focusing on his book.

Raph growled in frustration.  “Forget it, then!  I don’t know why I even bother,” he said it disgust.

“Leo, what do you mean?” asked Donatello with interest.

“Yeah, spill it!” encouraged Mikey.

Leonardo sighed and finally laid his book down.  “Look, you guys have been thinking about this the wrong way.  It _is_ an impossible task—if you try and do it on your own.”

“Oh, and I suppose if we all work together it would put _you_ in a prime position to get the reward,” accused Raph.

“Actually, no,” Leo answered.  “Don would get it.”

“Huh?” said Don and Mike simultaneously.

“How do you figure?” asked Don.

“Okay, here’s how it could be done,” said Leo, and he explained what he had in mind.

“You know, I think that would work!” said Don excitedly after Leo was done laying out the plan.  “I say we do it.”

“Of course you do, Donny, this plan results in you claiming the prize!” Raph declared obstinately.

“Can _you_ crack that safe?” Leo asked Raph.  Raph looked away wordlessly. 

“Then it’s got to be Don,” Leo concluded.

“Let’s do it then!” said Mikey.

The bungee cord attached to the safe was strung through a metal hook fixed to the high ceiling above the pool, and the bungee itself was connected to a rope that stretched diagonally down to the ground floor of the lair.  There the rope was tied around a huge concrete block, and their sensei had made it clear they were not to untie the rope.

As Leo had directed, Mikey and Don went up to the second level of the lair overlooking the common room and stretched a double length of climbing rope across the open area underneath the dangling safe.  They fixed the rope securely on both ends, and the two turtles waited from their respective sides.

Then Don signaled to Raph and Leo who, being the stronger of the four, were waiting at the concrete block.  Leo nodded to Raph, and the two strained to lift it between them.  Once they had managed to heft it, they straightened up and walked it closer to the center of the room until they were standing at the edge of the pool that surfaced in the lair.  They could go no farther.

“Okay, Mikey,” Leo gasped out, “is that enough?”

Moving the block had lowered the safe appreciably.  It still hung well above the ropes strung below it, but hopefully it was low enough now that with some luck, Mike could snag it.  He had been chosen for that task because it would require speed, agility, and not a little reckless daring, all of which Michelangelo possessed in quantity.

“I think so, but you’re gonna have to keep holding it up.  A few feet higher and I might not be able to reach it,” answered Mike.

“Just make it quick!” grunted Raph, straining with effort to keep the block up. 

Mike gulped as he stared for second at the ropes suspended high above the ground floor.

“Mikey, go!” yelled Leo through gritted teeth.

Deciding it was better not to think about it, Mikey crept swiftly on all fours out on the ropes until he was below the safe.  The only comforting thought was that if he fell, at least he would likely land in the water.  He rose cautiously until he was half standing, and looking up he knew he still could not reach the safe. He would have to get some extra height.  Bouncing lightly on the two ropes a couple times, he sprung upward and got both hands over the top of the safe far enough to pull it down with him.  Fortunately the bungee had a lot of give in it, and when Mikey’s feet miraculously found the ropes again he managed to grab a rope with one hand while preventing the safe from spring back up with the other.

Without wasting any time, Mikey proceeded along the rope towards Don, who was waiting on the other side.  As he progressed, the bungee began to resist the stretching so that Mike had to use some force in order to reach the solid ground of the ledge with the safe.  When it got close enough, Don reached out to help him draw it in.  Then Mike had to hold the safe steady while his brother went to work opening it.

Down below, Raph and Leo were having a difficult time.  Not only were they trying to hold the block up, but with the additional tension on the bungee they had to prevent themselves from being pulled farther into the center and falling in the pool of water.  With all of their focus going towards holding on a little bit longer, they couldn’t even remind Donatello to hurry.  Fortunately, they didn’t have to.  Don went to work at once, and in less than a minute they heard an “Aha!” of triumph.

“Got it!  We’re all set,” Don declared, and Mikey gradually allowed the bungee to relax again as he moved with the safe back onto the rope bridge.  When he had it directly underneath the ceiling hook once again, he gave word to Leo and Raph that they could put the block down.  With the additional tension gone, the two gently lowered the block and then collapsed on top of it.

Don was already halfway down the stairs when Mikey reached the ledge again, and soon all four of them were standing around the block where Leo and Raph were recovering and rubbing their arms.

“All I gotta say is, this reward better be good; and Donny, you better be sharing it,” said Raph, whose muscles felt about as solid as instant pudding.

“What is it, what was in there?” asked Mikey.

Don opened his fist to reveal a small glass figurine of a turtle that had been enclosed in bubble wrap.

“That’s it?” said a disappointed Mikey.

“Well, this is the object, so I guess once we give it to Master Splinter we’ll get the reward,” said Donatello reasonably.

The next morning all four turtles were waiting in the common area when Splinter emerged from his room.

“Ah, good morning my sons!” he said pleasantly.  He caught sight of the block in its new location and the expectant look on the faces of the turtles, and said, “I see you have managed to complete the task.  Do you have the object?”

Donatello placed the figurine on the coffee table.

“Excellent!  Well done, all of you,” he said, beaming at them.  “Which one of you managed to retrieve it?”

“Technically, Donny did,” said Raph bitterly.

“Then, Donatello, you may keep that as your prize,” replied Splinter.  “But as in life, the true reward is the knowledge you have all gained—the value of teamwork.”  He looked happily around at them, expecting to see humble acceptance and nods of satisfaction.  Instead, four pairs of eyes flashed disbelievingly at him.

Splinter sighed inwardly.  He should have known better.

“And of course,” he added spontaneously, “I will be buying pizza for dinner."

 

* * *

 

 

“We do make a pretty good team,” concluded Don at the end of the story.

“Most of the time . . .” conceded Raph, “ ‘Cept when Mikey’s around to screw things up,” he added wickedly.

“Hey Raph, just cuz you missed ripping on me doesn’t mean you have to make up for it all in one night!” Mikey cried indignantly.

“Why not?  Ain’t like I got a limit,” shot Raph.

“Then maybe it’s time I set one,” said Mike cheerfully, and he began whirling one of his weapons.  “What is it, Raphie Boy, not as keen as usual for a fight?” he said with a gleam in his eye.

“Bring it on, Mikey!  You better—,”

“Guys!” interrupted Don, laying a hand on each of their arms.  “C’mon.  Can’t you hold off at least until tomorrow?” he pleaded.

Slightly chastened, Raph and Mikey ceased in compliance with Donatello’s request.

“It’s just that, it’s so dark right now, and I’d like to be able to fully appreciate it when Mikey kicks Raph’s shell,” explained Don.

Leo laughed loudly at this, and in hearing him, even Raphael forgot his irritation as they all laughed along with him.

“We _do_ make a pretty good team,” agreed Leo when he was able to stop laughing.  “It’s worth the trouble.”

“Leo,” said Raph slowly, “I know I make things hard for you sometimes—,”

“More like all the time,” muttered Don under his breath.

“You’re pushin’ it now, geek-boy!  Just say another word . . .,” said Raph threateningly.

Leo rolled his eyes impatiently and stopped them by saying, “I know Raph, it’s okay.”

“The truth is,” Leo continued when he had their attention, “I would never normally admit this to you, but even your contentious attitude helps me out, Raph”

The other eyed him doubtfully.

“It’s true,” Leo said, looking at Raphael.  “Knowing that you’ll probably question whatever I decide forces me to examine each plan carefully for weaknesses before I even speak it out loud.  You keep me sharp.  And on the other hand, while you challenge me at every obstacle, I have Donny backing me up at every turn.” 

He met Donatello’s eyes and addressed him specifically.  “You never question my lead or my decisions, you just listen carefully and contribute everything you have every time.  And that kind of support, even more that your intelligence, is what helps me through the toughest times. 

“What about me, Leo?  I help you, right?” asked Mikey hopefully.  Leo had to smile to himself at his younger brother’s need for reassurance.

“Course you do, Bro,” said Leo, putting an arm around Mikey and pulling him closer.

“Like I said, comic relief,” quipped Raph.

“Sometimes,” admitted Leo, and Mikey said “Hey!” and pulled away from his oldest brother’s grasp.

“Mike, you help remind all of us to lighten up,” Leo said.  “If we were all serious all the time, some of the stuff we see and do would overwhelm us and affect our focus.  You also distract our opponents with your antics, often causing them to underestimate you—a _big_ mistake.”

“Plus that girlie scream of yours makes the rest of us feel that much tougher,” Raph added, unable to resist.

Mike stuck out his tongue at Raph, but didn’t retort.

“I guess all I have left to say is thanks,” finished Leonardo frankly, and wordlessly the brothers once again went into the familiar huddle, arms linked and heads together.  When they next looked up the sky had become faintly brighter, and the clouds soon grew pearly in the early light of morning. 

“So, what now?” queried Mikey.

Three pairs of eyes looked to Leonardo. 

The leader stood up, his presence commanding once again.

“It is time to recommence training.  When we’re ready, we’ll return to New York and finish this.”

* * *

 


	10. Epilogue

“Enter,” commanded Splinter in response to the knock on his door.

Four obviously exhausted but elated turtles filed into the room and stood resolutely in front of their sensei.  Splinter’s hopes soared as the scanned their tired faces.

“Welcome, my sons.  How may I help you?” he greeted them.

Leonardo spoke.  “Master, we would like to resume training.”  All eyes were on Splinter, calm and determined as they awaited his response.

“And are you all in agreement on this?”

“Yes, Master Splinter,” they replied in unison.

Splinter exhaled deeply as the glacier of worry he had been carrying melted in a rush.  He looked at his students and smiled.

“Then it shall be as you wish,” he responded, inclining his head at them. 

Then the father in him overcame the teacher as the old rat stood up slowly to face his sons, and joyfully held out his arms to them.  In an instant they were surrounding him, hugging their father enthusiastically and rubbing his head as they all smiled and laughed with release at being fully reunited.   After several minutes, Master Splinter took a step back and gestured at the floor.

“Please be seated,” he requested as he settled himself on a cushion.  They complied happily, and waited to hear what their master had to say.

“I must commend you all for your strength in overcoming the difficult hurdle you faced,” Splinter began.  “I confess that I have not been oblivious to your struggles, and I am aggrieved by the knowledge that, had I interceded, it is possible I could have spared you some of the pain you endured.  Yet I chose to do nothing—and for that I feel I owe you an explanation.”

Splinter addressed them all, but he held Raphael’s eyes for a moment before he continued.

“I have always striven to teach the importance of sticking together as a family.  Yet what is a family made up of but individuals?  Individuals each with their own dreams, and strengths, and fears.  All of these differences added together can make a family unimaginably strong when the individual members are working together, but they can also create rifts when there is conflict or miscommunication.  In such times of strife it can be difficult to see past your own fear and doubt.  Self doubts in particular are the hardest to overcome because, unless you voice them, there is no one to contradict you.”

“I knew this, and yet I felt it was crucial that you work things out on your own.  You are no longer children, and the first lesson I wanted you to learn as adults is that standing by your family is a _choice_.  You may not be able to choose your family members, and you may not be able to choose how much time you spend with your family when you are children, but as adults you are not obligated to remain together.”

“Many families drift apart,” Splinter continued, “and I knew it was a possibility that our family would not come out of this ordeal intact.” 

The turtles glanced briefly at each other, knowing too well the truth of these words.

“But had you not recognized that you had a choice—had I directed you to come together prematurely, I feared that in the challenges that await us those superficial bonds would have been inadequate.  We cannot afford to enter the next stage as anything less than a fully committed and functioning unit—to do so would almost certainly result in failure.”

Splinter looked at all of them, waiting for a sign from each that they understood and accepted what he was saying.  Then he continued.

“I can see in your eyes that whatever you have been through, it did not leave you unmarked—but I have no doubt that it has also helped you to become stronger.  It is my hope that you will not easily forget the things you have learned.  Most of all, remember that sometimes what your family needs most is not your physical strength, your intelligence, your leadership, or your courage—it is just _you_.”

Looking at him, the four turtles marveled at their sensei’s ability to so accurately summarize everything in one glaringly true statement. 

“Raphael,” Splinter said, addressing him specifically.  “I know it is you I have most to thank for this recovery, and I am especially proud of you,” praised Splinter.  Then the wise rat stood up and bowed formally to the one in red.

Following his lead, Mike, Don and Leo rose as one and bowed to their brother as well.

Raphael hurriedly scrambled to his feet, completely embarrassed to be the center of so much praise.

“Quit it, guys, you don’t need to . . . it was no big deal . . .” Raph sputtered.

Leo put a hand on Raph’s shoulder.  “I know it’s asking a lot, but for once just do as I say and shut up,” he said with a grin.

Michelangelo, who was quite enjoying seeing Raph so uncomfortable, took it a step further and prostrated himself in front of his brother, pretending to kiss his feet.

“Aaah!  Mikey, get off!” Raph exploded, and he rolled Mike hard with his foot, causing him to hit Donatello.  Don lost his balance and almost hit Master Splinter, who had managed to jump out of the way just in time.

Don recovered and helped Michelangelo up, saying, “Don’t worry Mikey, you can congratulate him again at the banquet being held in his honor following the award ceremony.”

Raph just made a noise like a growl.

Splinter sighed in a long-suffering way at his sons’ antics, but his eyes were sparkling.

“Go now and rest, my sons, for tomorrow morning we will begin training.  It is a long road ahead of us, but the first steps are often the most difficult.” 

Leo and Raph exchanged a meaningful look at these last words—they were almost the same ones Raph had uttered to Leo many weeks ago.

“Yes, Master Splinter,” the brothers chorused, and they exited the room content in the knowledge that though the coming weeks would bring many challenges, at least they would be facing them together.

After they left, Splinter could still hear their voices coming from the family room.

            “Raph?” he heard Michelangelo say.

            No answer from Raph.

            “Did you ever know that you’re my heeeeroooo?  You’re everything I would like tooo beeeee!” Mikey sang in a sappy high pitched voice.

            “I MEAN IT, GET OFFA ME YOU MUTANT!!”

Sounds of laughter could be heard fading away as the four departed, and Splinter could not help chuckling along with them.

“Things are definitely back to normal,” he concluded happily.

  

_THE END_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Mainframe  
> TheDyeIsCast on DeviantArt  
> [](http://s388.photobucket.com/user/KameTerra/media/RecoveryArt1_Mainframe_zpsafpgauwd.jpg.html)  
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> [](http://s388.photobucket.com/user/KameTerra/media/RecoveryArt2_Mainframe_zpsrnagwg8k.png.html)  
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> [](http://s388.photobucket.com/user/KameTerra/media/Turtle_Tot_Leo_3_by_TheDyeIsCast_zpsxa0zqlzz.jpg.html)   
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